t 


"PIOTR" 


MOONGLADE 


A   NOVEL 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 

The  Martyrdom  of  an  Empress 

OFFICIER  DE  I/ORDRE  DE  I/INSTRUCTION 
PUBLIQUE  DE  FRANCE 


ee 


H 


HARPER  y  BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 

NEW   YORK    AND     LONDON 

MCMXV 


BOOKS  BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 
"THE  MARTYRDOM  OF  AN  EMPRESS" 

MOONGLADE.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo. 

A   DOFFED   CORONET.     Illustrated.     Crown  8vo. 

THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  ROSE.     Illustrated.    Crown  8vo. 

EMERALD  AND  ERMINE.     Crown  8vo. 

GRAY   MIST.     Illustrated.     Crown  8vo. 

THE  KEYSTONE  OF  EMPIRE.     Illustrated.    Crown  8vo. 

SNOW-FIRE.     Illustrated.     Crown  8vo.. 

THE  TRIBULATIONS  OF  A  PRINCESS. 

Illustrated.     Crown  8vo. 
THE  TRIDENT  AND  THE  NET. 

Illustrated.     Crown  8vo. 
THE  MARTYRDOM  OF  AN  EMPRESS. 

Illustrated.     Crown  8vo. 


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COPYRIGHT.    1815.    BY   HARPER  ft   BROTHERS 

PRINTED  IN  THE   UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 

PUBLISHED    FEBRUARY.     1018 

C-P 


URL 
SRLF, 


TO 

A 

WITH 
EVERLASTING  THOUGHTS 


MOONGLADE 

MOONGLADE  upon  the  waters  whitely  lying; 
Though  the  wind,  shouting  from  the  western  verge, 
Herdeth  the  huddled  cloud-rack,  flying — flying — 
Glory  still  re-emergent,  rift-descrying, 

Spanneth  the  somber  surge. 

Moonglade,  O  Moonglade,  heavenly  calm  and  still, 
Throned  on  the  tossing  manes  unbroke  to  thill, 

I  know,  beholding  thee, 
The  storm  will  pass,  and  night  upon  the  sea! 

Moonglade  the  dark  lanes  of  the  forest  keeping, 
Soundless  and  silent,  hearken  as  ye  list; 
Lakes  of  bejewelled  vapor  lowly  sleeping, 
And  the  long  grasses  from  the  surface  peeping 

Levelled  of  silver  mist. 

Moonglade,  O  Moonglade,  that  your  Fates  fulfil, 
In  your  black  forest-prison  sweetly  still, 

I  know,  beholding  thee, 
Lights  of  the  lost  world,  Faith  and  Purity! 

Moonglade,  empearled  of  flame  unearthly,  lying 
Over  the  crystal  plains  of  snow  and  light, 
While  the  lost  wind,  of  naked  cold  a-crying, 
Shudders  beneath  the  half-shut  stars  espying 

Down  from  the  steely  night. 

Moonglade,  O  Moonglade,  heavenly  calm  and  still, 
Moulding  to  beauty  bitterness  and  ill, 

I  know,  beholding  thee, 
Yet  is  there  strength,  and  truth  and  constancy! 

Moonglade,  a  pale  and  forthright  splendor,  deeping 
The  mountain  shadows  on  the  river-flow, 
Across  the  sullen  flood's  resistless  creeping — 
Across  the  years,  the  wreckage  and  the  weeping, 

You  stand,  so  let  them  go! 

Moonglade,  O  Moonglade,  that  my  heart  doth  fill, 
Causeway  to  Avalon  unchanging  still, 

I  know  that  pass  by  thee, 
The  "bowery  hollows,  crowned  with  summer  sea"! 

M.  M, 


MOONGLAD 

^ 

V 


CHAPTER  I 


The  Sphinx,  prophetically  sung 
By  Fable  old,  and  ever  young, 
Is  Beauty  perilous,  that  stands 
With  eagle  wings  and  taloned  hands. 

"MADEMOISELLE  SETON  is  requested  to  come  down  to 
the  parlor." 

The  white-coiffed  nun  stood  inside  the  door,  waiting 
for  the  tall  girl  who  at  the  words  had  briskly  risen  from 
the  first  rank  of  her  fellow-pupils.  She  was  older  than 
any  there,  and  her  whole  allure  as  she  stepped  forward 
betrayed  a  certain  sense  of  superiority  and  conscious 
pride.  Silently  she  followed  Madame  Marie-Immaculee 
along  the  stone-paved  and  arched  passage  leading  to  the 
broad,  shallow  stairs,  her  step  as  light  and  noiseless  as 
thistle-down,  rhythmed,  as  it  were,  to  the  musical  tinkle 
of  her  leader's  great  rosary.  In  the  vaulted  hall  below 
she  made  a  deep  obeisance,  and  passed  into  the  parlair, 
leaving  the  nun  on  the  threshold,  as  is  the  rule. 

The  parloir  of  the  Sacred  Heart  Convent  at  Bryn  is  a 
cheerful  place,  and  was  full  of  sun-rays  that  morning. 
Plants  carefully  tended  showed  their  green  leaves  and 
bright  blossoms  on  the  window-sills  behind  the  snowy 
sheerness  of  tightly  drawn  curtains,  the  old  oaken  furni- 
ture shone  with  numberless  polishings,  and  a  great  silver- 


MOONGLADE 

and-ivory  crucifix  fastened  to  the  pale-gray  wall  gleamed 
benignantly  above  a  jardiniere  filled  with  freshly  gathered 
"votive"  heathers.  Blinking  a  little  in  all  this  bright- 
ness after  the  dimness  of  the  corridor,  the  girl  hesitated 
a  second. 

"Good  morning,  Laurence.  Don't  you  see  me?"  The 
voice  was  prim,  exceedingly  correct  in  enunciation,  and 
high-bred  in  accent. 

"Oh,  is  that  you,  Aunt  Elizabeth?"  the  girl  said,  com- 
ing quietly  forward,  a  cool  hand  outstretched.  "When 
did  you  land?" 

"Two  hours  ago,  at  Treport.  And  I  am  here  to  take 
you  back  with  me  this  evening." 

This  was  delivered  much  in  the  manner  of  a  pronun- 
ciamiento,  and  the  recipient  thereof  raised  her  eyebrows 
nervously. 

"This  evening!"  she  echoed.  "Why  so  much  haste, 
Aunt  Elizabeth,  pray?" 

"Because  you  have  been  here  four  years,  which  is 
much  longer  than  we  wished  you  to  remain,"  the  elder 
lady  stated,  tartly.  "You  are  eighteen,  and,  being  Eng- 
lish, it  is  high  time  that  you  should  become  reaccus- 
tomed  to  British  ways  and  manners." 

A  quaint  little  smile  drew  up  the  corners  of  Laurence's 
lips,  but  her  eyes  remained  serious.  She  was  a  singularly 
beautiful  girl,  graceful  of  figure,  dainty-featured,  and 
gifted  with  an  alabaster  complexion  and  a  wealth  of  chest- 
nut hair  that  would  have  made  even  a  plain  woman 
attractive. 

'You  find  me  too  Frenchified?"  she  queried,  twisting 
the  azure  ribbon  of  her  silver  medal  around  her  fingers — 
for  she  was  an  "Enfant  de  Marie,"  and  one  of  the  model 
pupils  of  her  convent-school. 

'  Ye-es,"  hesitated  Lady  Seton,  raising  her  lorgnette  the 
better  to  study  this  "uncomfortable"  niece.  "Ye-e-s! 
I  am  afraid  so,  but  we  will  soon  alter  all  that!"  And  she 

2 


MOONGLADE 

let  the  lorgnette  drop  to  the  very  end  of  its  interminable 
amethyst-and-pearl  chain.  "You  had  better  get  your 
things  ready  as  quickly  as  you  can,  Laurence,"  she  con- 
tinued, "for  neither  your  uncle  nor  the  tide  is  wont  to 
wait,  and  I  shall  come  back  for  you  at  six  o'clock  sharp." 

"You  crossed  on  the  Phyllis,  then?" 

"Why,  of  course!  What  else  would  have  landed  us  at 
Treport?" 

"I  don't  know,"  the  girl  indifferently  replied. 

Lady  Seton  shrugged  one  shoulder,  not  in  the  acceptedly 
Gallic  way,  which  she  would  have  condemned,  but  in  a 
slightly  contemptuous  fashion. 

"Be  ready,  bag  and  baggage,  at  a  quarter  to  six,  please, 
without  fail.  I'll  be  glad  to  see  you  out  of  that  ghastly 
black  uniform — or  whatever  you  call  it!  It  is  decidedly 
dowdy!" 

Laurence  laughed,  smoothed  the  straight  alpaca  folds 
falling  from  shoulder  to  ankle,  and  glanced  at  her  aunt 
quizzically. 

"I  am  going  to  interview  the  Mother  Superior,"  pro- 
nounced the  latter  again,  and  then  I  shall  go,  so  that  you 
may  have  an  opportunity  to  take  all  the  hysterical  fare- 
wells you  choose  from  your  beloved  friends  here." 

Hysterical!  Laurence  laughed  once  more  her  low, 
mocking  laugh,  and  effaced  herself  before  the  rangey  form 
of  her  aunt  as  her  British  ladyship  set  off,  under  full  sail, 
sweeping  past  Madame  Marie-Immaculee — still  pacing 
monotonously  up  and  down  the  hall,  out  of  hearing,  but  in 
full  sight  of  the  parloir  door. 

"Poor  Mother  Superior!"  Laurence  mused,  with  pious- 
ly raised  eyes.  "Poor  Mother  Superior!  I  hope  my 
delightful  aunt  will  have  nothing  but  edifying  things 
to  say  of  me;  she  is  not  overburdened  with  tact,  as  a 
rule!" 

As  she  reascended  the  stairs  she  was  suddenly  met  by  a 
whirlwind  of  outstretched  arms,  flying  golden  hair,  and 

3 


MOONGLADE 

skirts  of  alpaca  like  her  own,  which  flung  itself  headlong 
upon  her. 

"Laurence!  Laurence!  Have  they  come  for  you 
already?  .  .  .Oh!  Oh,  Laurence!"  The  breathless  sen- 
tence ended  abruptly  in  a  burst  of  whole-hearted  sobs 
as  Marguerite  de  Plenhoel  clung  desperately  about  her 
comrade's  neck. 

"Voyons,  mon  petit,"  consoled  Laurence,  keeping  her 
equilibrium  with  wonderful  ease  under  the  circumstances. 
' '  Sois  raisonnable! ' ' 

But  the  fifteen-year-old  evidently  was  disinclined  to 
listen  to  reason,  at  least  just  then,  for  she  went  on  chok- 
ing and  gasping,  and  entreating  betweentimes:  "Don't  go 
away,  Loris.  Don't  leave  me!  Don't!" 

"Hush!  Hush,  little  one!  Hush!  Let's  slip  into  the 
garden.  They'll  hear  you  if  we  stay  here !' ' 

"We — ca — n't — can't  go  in — into  .  .  .  the  garden — 
with — out — permis — sion,"  Marguerite  convulsively  ob- 
jected. 

But  Laurence  was  firm.  "But,  yes,  we  can.  There's 
nobody  about  now.  Come  quick!"  she  commanded,  half 
dragging,  half  carrying  Marguerite  down-stairs  again. 
And  thus  at  last  they  reached  a  small  postern  opening 
from  the  north  wing,  and  stopped  only  when,  still 
clasping  each  other,  they  stepped  into  the  wonderful  allee 
of  lindens  that  skirts  the  cloisters  on  that  side  of  the 
building. 

The  sun  filtering  through  the  pale  leafage  made  sway- 
ing spots  of  pink  copper  all  over  the  decorously  raked 
gravel;  the  heliotropes  and  old-fashioned  verbenas  and 
rose-geraniums  filling  the  borders  smelled  sweet  to  heaven, 
and  in  a  near-by  bosquet  of  laburnum  a  green  finch  sang  to 
burst  his  little  throat  (d  se  rompre  la  gorge). 

Marguerite — "Gamin"  to  her  intimates — instantly  be- 
came quieter.  With  a  gesture  that  was  very  youthful  and 
very  impatient  she  pushed  the  tumbled  gold  out  of  her 

4 


MOONGLADE 

big  blue  eyes,  still  brimful  of  tears,  and  stamped  her  narrow 
foot. 

"Don't  tell  me  it's  true!"  she  cried.  "Don't,  Loris! 
It  would  be  too  terrible!" 

Miss  Seton — the  Hon.  Laurence  Seton — in  all  the  plen- 
itude of  her  admirably  controlled  faculties,  stared  at  -the 
delightful  tomboy  beside  her. 

' It  is  true,my  poor  'Gamin,'"  she  serenely  stated, check- 
ing another  outburst  with  a  slight  recoil  of  her  supple  body. 
"My  excellent  uncle  and  aunt  have  resolved  that  I  shall 
go  with  them  to  'la  triste  Angleterre'  and  so  to  the  sad 
England  I  must  go.  Voilb!" 

"But  when — when?"  demanded  the  quivering  little 
creature.  ' '  When  ?" 

Laurence  hesitated.  To  tell  the  "Gamin"  that  only 
a  few  hours  remained  before  her  final  departure  from 
Bryn  would  destroy  all  her  chances  of  making  her  prepa- 
rations in  peace;  for  this,  alas!  was  a  half -holiday,  and 
Marguerite  would  be  free  to  follow  her  about  everywhere. 
To  tell  a  frank  fib  was  out  of  the  question,  of  course. 
Laurence  always  avoided  direct  lies,  so  she  took  refuge  in 
a  simple  evasion. 

"How  can  I  tell  exactly?  Such  queer  people  as  my 
relatives  are  apt  to  be  unreliable,"  she  equivocated. 
"You  don't  know  my  uncle  Bob  and  my  aunt  Elizabeth, 
luckily  for  you,  'Gamin.'  One  can  never  guess  what  is 
going  to  happen  next  when  they  come  on  the  scene!" 

"They  must  be  atrocious — abominable!"  snapped  poor 
Marguerite,  her  dark  eyebrows  meeting  in  a  furious 
frown  above  her  exquisitely  arched  little  nose. 

"N-no,  not  that;  merely  very  tiresome  and  authorita- 
tive— insular  to  a  terrible  extent !  He,  as  I  have  often  told 
you,  is  a  yachtsman  above,  before,  after,  and  during 
everything  else;  by  no  means  unkind,  but  as  stubborn  as  a 
whole  troop  of  mules.  She — well,  she's  Elizabethan;  not 
kindly  nor  good-looking,  but  worse!  Brick-red  morally 

5 


MOONGLADE 

and  physically,  without  any  luster  or  brilliancy,  fond  of 
absolute  power,  narrow-minded,  and — oh.  well,  quite 
unendurable." 

"O-o-o-o-h!"  gasped  Marguerite.  "Oh  .  .  .  o  .  .  . 
o  ...  o  ...  h!" 

"I  am  their  ward,"  Laurence  continued.  "They  are 
my  omnipotent  guardians,  and  I  can  never  hope  to  get 
rid  of  them,  for  I  am  a  beggar,  living  on  their  rather  acid 
bounty.  Do  you  understand,  petit  '  Gamin'?" 

No,  petit  "Gamin"  did  not  understand.  There  was 
something  askew  in  that  speech,  somehow,  something  that 
grated  upon  her,  though  just  what  it  was  she  could  not 
have  told.  She  therefore  remained  silent,  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  two  yellow  butterflies  chasing  each  other  round  and 
round  a  clump  of  blue  hortensias  artistically  grouped 
at  the  corner  of  the  cloister  beneath  the  leaden  rain-spout, 
whose  frequent  libations  kept  those  gorgeous  globes  of 
bloom  from  reverting  to  their  original  creamy  pink. 

"A  beggar!"  the  child  said  at  last.  "A  beggar!  .  .  . 
Then  why  don't  you  come  and  live  with  me  at  Plenhoel 
instead  of  with  them  in  England?"  There  was  extraor- 
dinary contempt  in  the  way  she  said  "them."  "I  have 
only  another  year  to  stay  here,"  she  passionately  pleaded, 
"and  every  single  thing  I  own  will  be  half  yours,  Loris 
darling — every  single  thing!" 

Eyes  and  hands  uplifted,  she  gazed  imploringly  at 
Laurence,  and  for  an  instant  a  softer  expression  flitted 
across  the  latter's  somewhat  sulky  face. 

"They  would  not  let  me  do  that — at  any  rate,  not 
until  I  come  of  age,"  she  asserted.  "No,  decidedly  not. 
.  .  .  And,  what's  more,  I  would  not  accept  charity  from 
your  people,  who  are  no  relations  of  mine." 

Marguerite  looked  at  her  friend  in  positive  amazement. 
"Charity!"  she  indignantly  remonstrated;  and  then  vio- 
lently she  cast  herself  prone  upon  the  green  border  of 
the  allee,  kicking  her  tiny  toes  into  the  turf.  "Charity 

6 


MOONGLADE 

indeed!"  she  angrily  cried  from  within  the  shelter  of  her 
intertwined  arms.  "Charity — to  you!" 

"Mademoiselle  de  Plenhoel!"  a  voice  expostulated  be- 
hind her;  and  Mademoiselle  de  Plenhoel  regained  her  feet 
with  amazing  promptness,  crimson  with  confusion,  to  face 
the  most  dreaded  of  her  educators,  Madame  Marie- 
Antoinette,  whose  rigid  manners  and  severe  cast  of  counte- 
nance were  the  iron  mask  of  a  heart  unsuspectedly  tender. 

"What  does  this  behavior  mean?"  she  now  demanded, 
standing  like  a  black  statue  of  reproof  within  a  yard  of  the 
culprit,  her  white  hands  folded  within  her  wide  sleeves. 

"Pardon  me,  Madame  Marie- Antoinette,"  Marguerite 
stammered,  "but  you  .  .  .  you  see,  Laurence  is  g-going 
away  .  .  .  soon!"  Here  tears  of  mingled  rage  and  distress 
began  again  to  run  from  beneath  the  heavy,  drooping 
lashes! 

An  almost  imperceptible  wave  of  delicate  color  rose  to 
the  nun's  still  features  and  wiped  twenty  years  from  them ! 
She,  too,  had  known  those  great  despairs  of  early  youth — 
far  greater  ones,  perhaps — and  it  was  in  an  altogether 
altered  voice  that  she  replied. 

"I  am  sorry  to  see  you  so  unhappy,  Marguerite,"  she 
said,  drawing  nearer  to  her,  "but  such  outbursts  of  feeling 
are  not  seemly,  my  child;  besides,  they  prove  nothing — 
nothing  at  all — and  are — er — vulgar!"  She  gave  a  little 
cough,  and  went  on,  equably :  "  Laurence  has  her  duties  as 
you  have  yours.  So  come  with  me  now,  at  least  until  you 
have  controlled  yourself";  and  as  an  afterthought  she 
concluded,  "By  the  way,  you  are  both  in  contravention, 
for  you  are  well  aware  that  the  garden  and  park  are  for- 
bidden ground  to  you  when  unaccompanied  by  one  of  us." 

Marguerite  reverently  touched  a  fold  of  the  nun's  robe. 
"I  am  sorry,"  she  whispered  very  mournfully;  "I  am 
sorry!" 

For  a  moment  Laurence  had  been  watching  the  picture 
made  by  the  "Gamin"  in  this  unusually  contrite  mood, 

7 


MOONGLADE 

looking,  in  fact,  quite  like  a  little  saint  in  the  discreet  sun- 
shower  beneath  the  trees  that  dappled  her  slim  black  gown 
and  formed  a  bright  nimbus  around  her  lovely  lowered 
head.  Twice  she  opened  her  lips  to  speak,  but  refrained. 
Then,  courtesying  deeply  to  the  nun,  she  walked  demurely 
indoors,  where,  however,  as  soon  as  she  found  herself  alone, 
she  raced  at  top  speed  up  the  stairs,  thinking,  as  she  went : 
"Better  so.  Outbursts  are — are — vulgar,  as  Madame 
Marie-Antoinette  has  so  sapiently  remarked,  and  our  poor 
'Gamin'  is  still  so  very  impulsive — so  impossible  to  con- 
vince that  I'd  sooner  not  try  it!" 


CHAPTER  II 

Where  first  the  wave,  in  long  unrest 
Rolled  from  the  glamour  of  the  West, 
Breaks  with  the  voice  of  Fate  along 
The  shores  of  Legend  and  of  Song. 

THE  sea  was  beating  into  unbroken  foam  at  the  foot  of 
the  towering  cliff — an  uninterrupted  front  of  granite,  quite 
unscalable  except  at  narrow  clefts  four  and  five  miles 
apart,  which  nobody  would  attempt  except  at  low  water, 
when  a  precarious  path  of  shingle  is  laid  bare  between  that 
grim  rampart  and  the  lip  of  the  tide.  A  summer  storm 
had  raged  for  two  days  and  nights  along  this  terrible 
coast,  and  now,  although  the  leadenness  of  the  sky  was 
thinning  here  and  there  to  patches  of  faded  turquoise, 
the  waves,  still  savagely  churned  by  the  wind,  were  piling 
beds  of  semi-solid  spume  far  above  the  ragged  margin  of 
the  inner  Bay  of  Plenhoel. 

From  the  stone  terrace  of  the  Castle  the  sight  would 
have  been  awe-inspiring  to  any  but  its  inhabitants,  hard- 
ened through  generation  after  generation  to  such  spectacles 
and  such  sensations.  To  the  right  of  the  fortress-like 
building  a  wall  of  spindrift  whirling  up  an  embayment  of 
the  falaise  shut  off  all  view  of  the  coast  to  the  east- 
ward; to  the  left  and  in  front  chaos  reigned  supreme  in 
a  fathomless  gulf,  while  behind  it  miles  of  pine  forest 
stretched  to  the  crest  of  the  table-land  in  endless  tossing 
manes  of  somber  green. 

Five  hundred  feet  of  sheer  cliff  about  which  thousands 


MOONGLADE 

of  gulls  flew  screaming  in  and  out  of  the  roaring  gusts  of 
the  gale,  and  down-shore  the  intermittent  boom  of  a 
souffleur  overtoiling  by  many  cavernous  notes  the  great 
voices  of  sky  and  sea. 

The  library  at  Plenhoel  is  one  of  the  most  pleasing 
places  imaginable.  Long  ago  it  had  been  a  guard-room, 
where  the  officers  of  the  garrison  watched  the  offing  from 
the  tunnel-like  window-embrasures,  and  the  pikes  of 
halberdiers  resounded  upon  the  granite -flagged  floor. 
Some  time  after  the  Chouan  wars  it  was  transformed  into 
an  eminently  "living"  apartment,  paneled  in  carved  oak, 
book-lined  on  three  sides,  and  pierced  by  many  tall 
French  windows  that  open  upon  a  broad  balcony  of 
wonderfully  wrought  stone. 

In  one  of  the  aforesaid  embrasures  that  tempestuous 
morning  the  still,  gracile  silhouette  of  Marguerite  de 
Plenhoel  was  outlined  against  the  background  of  sea  and 
cloud.  She  had  grown  a  little  since  a  year,  but  it  seemed 
evident  that  she  would  never  be  either  a  tall  or  an  "im- 
posing" woman.  But  what  could  one  not  forgive  in  so 
lovely  a  little  creature  who,  with  her  square  shoulders  and 
slim,  round  waist,  looked  wholesome  and  strong  as  any 
sand-poppy;  whose  delicately  oval  face  was  so  full  of 
happy  life,  from  the  deep-set  blue  eyes  to  the  tender  mouth, 
the  patrician  arch  of  the  nose,  and  the  obstinate  little  chin 
dented  by  a  tantalizing  fossette?  The  crinkly  silkiness  of 
her  hair — that  crowning  beauty  of  hers — now  piled  upon 
her  head  in  rebellious  masses,  shone  even  in  the  fog- 
dimmed  light  as  she  bent  forward  to  gaze  fervently 
through  the  panes,  breathing  on  and  rubbing  them  again 
and  again  to  free  them  from  their  misted  opaqueness. 

She  had  been  home  for  good  a  couple  of  weeks  only, 
and  greeted  the  convulsions  of  nature  as  a  treat  especially 
prepared  for  her;  for  now  and  then  she  clapped  her  hands 
and  sketched  a  merry  jig-step  or  two  on  the  polished  floor, 
evidently  in  applause  of  so  stirring  a  scene.  So  absorbed, 

10 


MOONGLADE 

indeed,  was  she  in  her  contemplation,  her  lovely  face 
flattened  now  against  the  glass,  that  she  did  not"  hear  a 
door  unclose  and  shut  behind  her.  She  was  counting 
aloud  for  the  seventh  fateful  wave  that  all  true-born  ocean 
folk  hold  in  so  profound  a  respect. 

"One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six  ..."  she  called,  as  -if 
summoning  the  crowning  surge  in  unconquerable  im- 
patience. 

"Seven!"  said  a  voice  immediately  at  her  side,  and  she 
whirled  about  on  one  toe  to  find  herself  confronted  by  a 
very  tall  man  who  was  smiling  amusedly. 

"Basil!"  she  exclaimed.  "Cousin  Basil!  Where  did 
you  jump  from?" 

"From  the  cliff  path,  which  I  don't  recommend  as  a 
peaceful  choice  of  promenade  just  now,"  he  replied, 
calmly;  but  his  fine  gray  eyes,  nevertheless,  held  a  sugges- 
tion of  the  pleasing  battle  he  had  just  fought  against  the 
tempest. 

"Why  didn't  you  call  me?"  she  reproached,  with  an 
adorable  pout.  "I  would  have  liked  so  much  to  come 
with  you." 

"Little  girls,  my  cousin,"  he  answered,  gravely,  "should 
not  be  risked  on  the  edge  of  draughty  precipices." 

The  "Gamin"  frowned.  She  was  too  young  as  yet  to 
enjoy  being  called  a  little  girl,  and  the  riposte  came  at 
once. 

"Where  old  gentlemen  are  safe,  younger  people  may 
surely  go!"  she  said,  mischievously. 

"Old  gentleman  . . .  hummm  . . .  m !  That's  rather  hard 
on  me,  isn't  it,  dear  cousin  mine?" 

"Hard,  why?"  she  retorted.  "How  old  are  you,  any- 
how?" And,  standing  on  the  very  points  of  her  tiny 
slippers,  she  pointed  at  his  temples  with  two  accusing 
fingers. 

"  One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six  ...  silver  threads  among 
the  bronze,"  she  misquoted. 

IX 


MOONGLADE 

"And  seven!"  he  coolly  admitted,  looking  smilingly 
down  at  her.  "Seven  or  more,  what  matters?  I  am 
thirty-four,  you  know,  my  little  cousin." 

"What  matters  indeed!  You  have  enough  privileges 
already,  without  expecting  to  remain  always  young." 

4 '  Privileges !    You  surprise  me !" 

"Certainly,"  she  insisted.  "Aren't  you  a  great  Prince, 
a  Serene-Highness — just  as  in  the  fairy-tales?  Haven't 
you  huge,  big  estates  in  Russia  and  the  Crimea,  villas  in 
the  south  of  France,  fortins  in  the  Caucasus,  mines  in 
Siberia,  besides  loads  and  loads  of  money,  jewels,  picture- 
galleries,  a  private  band  of  musicians,  acres  of  hothouses, 
horses,  stud-farms?  A  regular  Marquis  de  Carabas,  that's 
what  you  are!" 

She  paused  for  lack  of  breath,  and  once  more  he 
laughed. 

"You  overwhelm  me,  ma  cousine,"  he  mocked;  "but 
since  I  am  old,  quite  an  old  gentleman,  you  see ...  what 
are  these  manifold  gifts  to  me?" 

"Old!  Oh,  not  so  very  old,  after  all!"  she  suddenly 
contradicted.  "Fortunately  you  are  handsome,  and  very, 
very  tall.  Whew  .  .  .  ew!  You  are  tall!  I  love  that!  I 
despise  small  men.  They're  always  barking  and  fussing, 
like  black-and-tans.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"Your  knowledge  is  indeed  extensive,  'Gamin,'"  he 
praised.  "Yet  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  be  a  giant  in 
order  to  possess  a  kindly  temper.  I  have  met — " 

"Never  mind  what  you  have  met,"  she  interrupted. 
"I  know  that  you  are  good-tempered,  and  six  foot  four 
inches.  That's  enough  proof  of  what  I  said  just  now." 

"  Thank  you !' '  he  began,  dryly.  But  in  one  clean  bound 
she  cleared  the  space  between  the  window  and  a  ponder- 
ous oaken  bench,  upon  which  she  perched  herself,  her  feet 
ten  inches  from  the  immense  rug  covering  all  the  middle 
of  the  room.  "And  now,"  she  stated,  "I  must  be  rea- 
sonable, and  grown-up,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  so  that  the 

12 


MOONGLADE 

person  who  first  exhorted  me  to  listen  to  reason  may  not 
find  me  lacking  in  that  desirable  quality." 

"Is  there  really  a  person  bold  enough  to  preach  reason 
to  you?"  he  commenced;  but  she  silenced  him  by  an 
eminently  peremptory  gesture. 

"Listen!"  she  admonished.     "Do  you  hear  wheels?" 

"Wheels?"  he  questioned,  sincerely  astonished.  "In 
this  storm?" 

"And  why  not?  Why  shouldn't  people  travel  in  a 
storm  when  they  are  not  imprisoned,  as  I  am?" 

"You  are  a  prisoner?"  Prince  Basil  asked,  with  amaze- 
ment. 

"Of  course  I  am.  Papa — the  dear  Saints  of  Brittany 
bless  him — has  decreed — decreed,  you  understand — 'J'ai 
dtcrete'  was  what  he  said — he  loves  such  sentences — that 
he  would  go  alone  to  fetch  my  Loris  at  the  station.  You 
will  agree  with  him,  I  am  sure,  'little  girls'  should  always 
be  left  at  home.  Eh?" 

"What  is  'your  Loris/  if  I  may  be  so  indiscreet  as  to 
ask,  petite  cousine?" 

"What?  You  mean  who,  I  suppose.  She  is  the  most 
beautiful  girl  in  the  world — an  English  'professional 
beauty,'  they  say.  She*  was  at  the  Sacre"-Cceur  with  me, 
and  she  loved  me — yes,  she  loved  me,  though  she  played 
me  a  mean  trick  once;  but  it  wasn't  her  fault,  poor  dear! 
I've  never  seen  her  since.  And  just  imagine,  her  ogres  of 
uncle  and  aunt  have  condescended  to  let  her  spend  a 
month  with  us  here — a  whole  month — thirty  days — no, 
thirty-one,  as  this  is  the  last  day  of  June." 

"This  promises  to  be  interesting,"  Basil  remarked. 
"A  gloriously  beautiful  maiden  oppressed  by  avuncular 
ogres,  and  coming  all  the  way  from  perfidious  Albion  to 
charm  the  natives  of  ancient  Armorica!  It  sounds  very 
well,  when  one  comes  to  think  of  it!" 

The  "Gamin,"  who  had  pulled  from  the  pocket  of  her 
white  serge  frock  a  handful  of  hazelnuts,  and  was  joyously 


MOONGLADE 

cracking  them  one  after  another  between  her  short  white 
teeth,  laughed  and  nearly  choked  herself. 

"You  have,"  she  asserted,  as  soon  as  she  could  speak, 
"a  funny  way  of  expressing  yourself,  Cousin  Basil.  Why 
don't  you  add  that  a  handsome  Prince  Charming  came 
from  much  farther  off  yet,  to  do  likewise?" 

"Again?  Vous  y  tenez  decidement,  ma  cousine!  Hand- 
some is  as  handsome  does,  you  know,  and  as  yet  I  am 
not  conscious  of  having  behaved  in  any  very  remarkable 
way  since  my  arrival!" 

Marguerite  raised  her  shoulders  to  the  level  of  her 
ears,  threw  a  handful  of  nut-shells  in  the  bronze  waste- 
paper  holder  at  her  side,  and  jumped  from  her  lofty  seat. 

"It  must  be  nearly  eleven,"  she  cried  in  sudden  alarm. 
"We'll  miss  it  all  if  we  don't  go  down-stairs  now,  at  once. 
Come  quick." 

"Miss  what?"  the  impassive  Prince  demanded,  slowly 
rising  from  the  deep  arm-chair  where  he  had  established 
himself. 

But  she  had  already  glissaded  to  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
and  it  took  all  he  could  accomplish  with  his  long  legs  to 
overtake  her  before  she  had  quite  succeeded  in  breaking 
her  pretty  nails,  in  endeavoring  to  open  one  of  the  tall 
windows  giving  on  the  north  terrace. 

"Leave  that  to  me.  The  wind  is  straight  against  it. 
Wait,  won't  you,  please?"  he  pleaded,  his  hand  over  both 
of  hers,  for  she  was  still  struggling  manfully  with  the 
complicated  fastening. 

"I'm  very  strong,"  she  panted.  "I've  done  it  lots  of 
times." 

Evidently  she  was  very  strong,  for  the  window  sudden- 
ly gave  way  and,  had  it  not  been  for  Basil's  weight,  would 
have  knocked  her  flat.  But  little  did  she  care  for  such 
slight  contretemps.  With  a  ringing  war-whoop  she  raced 
out,  her  hair — instantly  blown  from  its  restraining  combs 
by  the  whistling  blast — streaming  in  clouds  behind  her, 

14 


MOONGLADE 

her  skirts  flying  back  from  her  slim  ankles,  and  danced 
wildly  toward  the  carven  parapet. 

Basil,  hastily  securing  the  window  from  the  outside, 
ran  after  her,  afraid  that  she  would  really  be  whirled  by 
the  back-draught  over  the  balustrade  to  the  causeway 
below.  He  was  laughing  helplessly  at  the  extraordinary 
antics  of  this  queer  little  being  who  bewitched  him,  but 
when  he  caught  up  with  her  he  took  firm  hold  upon  her 
arm. 

"You  imp!"  he  shouted,  for  the  hurly-burly  was 
such  that  he  could  not  hear  his  own  voice,  nor  her  reply, 
for  that  matter;  but  it  was  not  a  very  decorous  one,  to 
judge  by  the  roguish  sparkle  of  her  eyes.  However,  she 
did  not  shake  off  his  hand,  which  quite  surprised  him,  and 
soon  they  were  leaning  side  by  side  against  a  beautiful 
mediaeval  gargoyle  hewn  from  the  stone  wall  of  the  ter- 
race, and  at  that  moment  disgorging  the  downpour  of 
the  morning  hours. 

Following  her  excited  glance,  he  saw,  away  down  at  the 
foot  of  the  causeway,  a  four-in-hand,  fiercely  beaten  by 
the  wind  as  it  labored  up  the  steep  incline. 

"Les  voila!  Les  voilb!"  Marguerite  shrieked,  quite  be- 
side herself  with  delight.  "They'll  be  here  in  ten  min- 
utes." 

The  words  were  flung  in  Basil's  teeth  by  the  tempest. 
But  he  had  already  recognized — his  sight  being  unusu- 
ally keen — his  cousin  de  Plenhoel  handling  the  ribbons, 
and  seen  that  a  slender  feminine  form,  tightly  cloaked 
and  hooded,  was  sitting  beside  him.  Far  behind  the 
equipage  a  fourgon  was  following,  with  the  maid  and 
luggage. 

"Oh,  look  at  the  horses'  manes!"  shrieked  Marguerite, 
pointing  to  the  drag,  now  almost  immediately  beneath. 
"They  are  blown  all  sideways.  Oh  dear!  How  funny!" 

"And  what  about  yours?"  Basil  laughed,  vainly  at- 
tempting to  capture  in  both  hands  the  flying  silk  of  her 

15 


MOONGLADE 

glorious  hair;  but  with  another  of  her  acrobatic  bounds 
she  darted  from  his  side,  turned  the  corner  like  a  blown 
feather,  and  disappeared  into  the  Cour-d'Honneur,  where 
he  hastened  to  join  her,  bullied  by  the  wind  and  with  less 
decorum  than  was  his  wont. 

Great  black  clouds  were  once  more  piling  up  in  the  sky, 
and  as  the  horses  turned  into  the  wide  paved  space  a  few 
enormous  drops  of  rain  began  to  fall. 

Fortunately  here  there  was  some  shelter  from  the  storm, 
and  it  became  possible  to  reassume  some  dignity  of  de- 
meanor, if  one  felt  so  inclined.  Marguerite,  however,  had 
no  such  cares,  and  as  soon  as  her  father — Le  Beau  Plen- 
hoel,  known  since  his  early  youth  by  the  eminently  un- 
pretentious sobriquet  of  "Antinous" — had  accomplished 
a  masterly  turn  around  the  central  fountain  and  brought 
his  mettlesome  team  to  a  stand  at  the  foot  of  the  perron, 
she  had  clambered  on  the  near  wheel  and,  lifting  herself 
to  the  box,  was  hugging  Laurence  Seton  like  a  bear. 

The  Marquis  de  Plenhoel  burst  into  hearty  laughter 
and  glanced  indulgently  at  Basil,  standing  ready  to  help 
the  two  girls  down.  The  grooms  had  jumped  to  the 
horses'  heads,  where  they  now  remained,  like  twin  wax 
figures  incapable  of  movement  or  expression,  under  the 
pelting  shower. 

"Mais,  mon  'Gamin,'  let  her  get  down!"  Plenhoel  called. 
"We'll  all  be  drenched  to  the  bone."  And  then  only 
Marguerite  regretfully  leaped  into  his  arms,  making  it 
possible  for  Basil  to  assist  Laurence  to  the  ground.  Under 
such  circumstances  the  introduction  was  necessarily  quite 
unconventional,  and,  driven  indoors  by  the  rain  now  flood- 
ing in  torrents  from  the  leaden  gutters  overhead  and  rico- 
chetting  in  the  liveliest  fashion  from  the  steps,  Mar- 
guerite and  Laurence  ran  off  without  further  ado. 

Pulling  off  his  long  mackintosh  and  soaked  driving- 
gloves,  Plenhoel  turned  to  his  cousin: 

"A  dramatic 'entrfe!"  he  said,  grinning,  and  displaying 

16 


MOONGLADE 

under  his  blond  mustache  teeth  of  a  whiteness,  and  reg- 
ularity worthy  of  a  boy  of  twenty.  "With  the  'Gamin' 
one  can  always  expect  something  unforeseen,"  he  added, 
leading  the  way  to  his  den.  "Here,  have  a  dash  of  cog- 
nac, Basil.  You  look  almost  as  pumped  as  I  am!"  And 
he  pushed  the  tantalus  toward  his  relative.  "It  will 
sharpen  our  appetites  for  luncheon,  too." 

Basil  quietly  possessed  himself  of  a  very  easy  chair, 
and,  declining  the  spirits  by  a  gesture,  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"Who  and  what  is  that  ethereal  apparition  who  ig 
throwing  our  '  Gamin'  into  such  convulsions  of  joy?"  he 
asked,  lazily  following  with  his  eyes  a  ring  of  smoke  float- 
ing toward  the  caissoned  ceiling. 

"Hum-urn!"  "Antinous  "replied,  setting  down  his  little 
glass  and  drying  his  mustache  on  his  handkerchief.  "A 
very  beautiful  person,  as  you  may  have  seen." 

"I  did  not  see.  She  was  cowled  like  a  monk,  and,  save 
for  a  bit  of  resolute  chin  and  the  gleam  of  an  interesting 
pair  of  eyes — " 

"Oh,  she's  beautiful;  no  doubt  about  that,  my  boy; 
but  as  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  judge — which  is  not 
much,  I  admit — she  is  scarcely  the  sort  I  would  have  ac- 
cused the  'Gamin'  of  turning  into  an  idol." 

"Accuse  is  severe!"  Basil  remarked,  knocking  the  ashes 
from  his  cigarette  with  the  tip  of  his  little  finger.  "What's 
amiss  with  her?  You  don't  mean  that  she's  a  dark 
filly?" 

"No.  .  .  ."  "Antinous"  hesitated.  "No— but  hard 
in  the  mouth,  and  a  bit  sultry  in  temperament,  I  should 
say.  Of  course  it  is  hard  to  judge,  where  the  Anglo-Saxon 
'Miss  Independence'  is  concerned;  but  this  one  has  been 
admirably  brought  up  by  our  good  ladies  of  the  Sacre*- 
Cceur;  and  moreover  I  understand  that  all  her  life  she 
has  been  pruned,  and  prismed,  and  molded,  and  clipped 
by  a  dragon  of  an  aunt — an  ex-beauty — now  rather  long 
in  the  tooth,  who,  it  appears,  is  not  often  inclined  to  joke. 

17 


MOONGLADE 

But  still  the  finished  product  of  her  labors  inspires  me 
with  no  extravagant  amount  of  confidence." 

Basil  gazed  thoughtfully  at  his  kinsman.  He  knew 
him  to  be  a  connoisseur,  and  a  fastidious  one,  at  that,  for 
all  the  women  of  his  family  were,  or  had  been,  renowned 
for  their  loveliness.  Moreover,  married  at  twenty-two 
to  one  of  Brittany's  fairest  daughters,  he  had  been  left  a 
widower  fourteen  months  later,  when  Marguerite  was 
born.  Be  it  said  to  his  praise,  he  had  never  dreamt  of 
giving  his  dear  "Gamin"  a  stepmother;  but  when  all 
was  said  and  done  he  was  now  barely  thirty-eight,  ex- 
traordinarily good-looking,  and  eminently  disinclined  by 
nature  to  keep  his  eyes  closed  when  beauty  was  about. 

"Not  bridle  wise?"  Basil  smiled  up  at  Antinoiis. 
"According  to  your  lights,  at  least?" 

"Bridle  wise!  Who  d'you  take  me  for?"  the  Marquis 
protested.  "You  don't  fancy  I'd  try  to  flirt" — he  said 
"fleureter" — "with  a  damsel  under  my  protection,  do  you? 
Besides,"  he  added,  naively,  "she's  not  my  style  .  .  .  not 
a  bit  of  it!" 

"Heaven  be  thanked,  then,"  Basil  gravely  replied. 
"We  can  henceforth  rest  in  peace!" 

Plenhoel  burst  out  laughing  and  clapped  his  cousin  on 
the  back.  ' '  There's  the  bell.  Let's  to  table,  unbeliever ! ' ' 
And  he  drew  back  to  let  Basil  pass  out  of  the  room  before 
him. 

A  surprise  awaited  Basil  in  the  dining-room  as  he  came 
down,  after  hurriedly  brushing  his  hair  to  an  admirable 
smoothness.  By  the  opposite  door  Marguerite  and  Lau- 
rence were  entering,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  affec- 
tionate acquaintance  with  the  "Gamin"  he  completely 
forgot  her  presence,  for  the  lithe  figure  beside  her  and 
overtopping  her  by  half  a  head  almost  took  his  breath 
away.  Graceful  as  it  is  granted  but  few  to  be,  "Miss 
Independence,"  as  "Antinous"  had  called  her — was,  out- 
wardly, at  least,  perfection.  Her  long  hazel  eyes  had  that 

18 


MOONGLADE 

slight  droop  at  the  outer  edges  of  the  lids  which  makes  so 
much  for  beauty  and  expression;  her  small,  well-cut  mouth 
and  high-bred  features,  the  oval  of  her  jasmine-white  face, 
and  her  coronal  of  warmly  auburn  braids,  made  up  an 
altogether  uncommon  ensemble.  Clad  in  vaporous  lace- 
incrusted  batiste  of  a.  creamy  tint,  melting  into  thatr  of 
her  exquisite  skin,  a  knot  of  deep-red  carnations  carelessly 
thrust  in  her  softly  folded  satin  belt  was  the  only  touch 
of  color  about  her,  and  Basil's  eyes  very  nearly  trans- 
gressed the  dictates  of  good  form  as  he  looked  at  her. 
Truly,  Plenhoel  was  difficult  to  please,  he  thought,  taking 
his  seat  beside  "the  Marvel,"  as  he  already  inwardly 
named  her. 

The  poor  "Gamin,"  although  her  rebellious  tresses  were 
now  as  neat  as  Laurence's  own,  her  crumpled  serge  re- 
placed by  a  pale-pink  linen  of  irreproachable  chic,  re- 
mained during  the  entire  meal  unobserved  by  her  big 
cousin;  but  she,  nevertheless,  filled  her  place  as  mistress 
of  the  house  excellently  well,  and  with  a  little  air  of  im- 
portance that  sat  very  prettily  upon  her  extreme  youth- 
fulness.  However,  "Antinous,"  always  immensely  proud 
of  his  daughter,  seemed  lost  in  contemplation  of  this 
charming  vis-d-vis,  so  that  at  first  the  conversational 
ball  rolled  uninterruptedly  between  the  two  others;  but 
as  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  thinking  of  some  retrievers  that 
were  coming  from  England  that  week  to  add  the  charm  of 
their  thoroughbredness  to  his  kennels — already  too  expen- 
sive, for,  in  the  modern  sense  of  the  word,  at  least,  he  was 
not  what  is  termed  a  very  wealthy  man. 

After  luncheon,  the  storm  having  not  as  yet  abated, 
the  little  party  went  to  what  is  called  at  Plenhoel  the 
Galerie  des  Ancetres — a  particularly  attractive  apartment 
in  which  to  spend  a  wet  afternoon.  Hung  with  ancient 
tapestries  and  decorated  with  armor  of  the  best  period, 
with  an  antique  banner  drooping  here  and  there  along  the 
paneling  above  a  row  of  knights'  stalls  of  heavy  carven 

19 


MOONGLADE 

wood,  this,  together  with  a  succession  of  splendid  family 
portraits,  preserved  there  the  touch  of  the  long  ago,  for 
the  rest  of  the  furnishings  were  amusingly  heterogeneous. 
The  great  room  terminated  at  both  ends  in  monumental 
fireplaces.  Fronting  one  of  these  was  a  huge  billiard- 
table,  balanced  by  a  Pleyel  grand  piano,  and  opposite,  to 
one  side  of  the  other  chimneypiece,  a  large-sized  organ 
was  flanked  by  enormous  palms  in  bronze  tubs,  while  the 
rest  of  the  thirty-odd  yards  of  space  was  most  variously 
occupied — tables  great  and  small,  loaded  with  albums, 
books,  magazines,  and  flower-filled  vases;  a  collection  of 
sofas,  pouffs  and  piled-up  cushions;  and  many  arm-chairs 
and  benches,  ranging  from  angular  Gothic  shapes  to  the 
most  approved  and  lazy  forms  of  to-day. 

Here  one  could  smoke,  read,  nap,  or  play  games  of  all 
sorts  without  let  or  hindrance,  since,  besides  the  billiards, 
a  set  of  graces,  a  game  of  bagatelle,  a  chess-board,  a 
Dutch  top  flanked  by  its  individual  paraphernalia,  and 
even  a  jeu  de  petits  chevaux  were  ready  to  hand. 

To-day,  however,  a  strange  and  unaccustomed  atmos- 
phere seemed  to  pervade  this  home-like  and  delightful 
retreat.  Basil,  perhaps  exhausted  by  his  unwonted  lo- 
quacity at  lunch,  had  fallen  silent,  and  stood  near  one  of 
the  windows,  gazing  dreamily  at  the  soupy  gravel  drive 
and  the  dripping  trees.  Antinoiis,  sunk  to  the  shoulders 
into  the  mellowness  of  a  brocaded  smoking-chair,  pulled 
pensively  at  his  mustache,  his  eyes  idly  wandering  over 
the  pages  of  a  two-days-old  number  of  the  Gazette  de 
France,  and  neither  of  them  said  a  word.  Still,  Mar- 
guerite and  her  guest,  sitting  side  by  side  on  an  ottoman 
placed  in  a  far-off  embrasure,  made  up  for  it  by  chattering 
like  magpies — but  sotto  voce,  so  that  their  "confidences" 
should  not  be  overheard.  In  truth,  their  "confidences" 
had  so  far  remained  completely  one-sided.  Laurence 
spoke  in  a  sufficiently  lively  fashion,  but  revealed  nothing 
of  her  own  doings  and  thoughts.  That  she  was  drawing 

20 


MOONGLADE 

out  the  "Gamin"  with  superior  skill  would  have  been 
patent  to  a  less  simple  little  soul  than  Marguerite's. 

"But,"  Miss  Seton  said  at  last,  "you  never  told  me 
that  you  have  Russian  relatives."  And  her  eyes  slid  a 
furtive  glance  in  the  direction  of  Prince  Basil. 

"Didn't  I?"  Marguerite  laughed.  "I  never  thought 
of  it  in  our  convent  days.  You  see,  I  did  not  know  my 
cousin  Basil  then  quite  as  well  as  I  do  now.  It  is  like 
this.  My  grandfather's  sister,  Anne  de  Plenhoel,  married 
Pierre  Palitzin,  and  became  Basil's  grandmother.  Am 
I  expressing  myself  clearly?" 

"Very  clearly.  And  is  Prince  Basil  an  only  child?" 
Laurence  spoke  in  the  tone  of  one  who  desires,  out  of 
mere  politeness,  to  keep  up  a  rather  boring  dialogue. 

"Oh  dear,  no!  He  has  the  most  exquisite  sister.  She 
married  another  relative  of  ours,  Jean  de  Salvieres.  It's 
quite  a  mixed  affair,  those  family  ties  of  ours,  like  a  Nea- 
politan ice,  pink,  and  green,  and  mauve,  and  lemon,  in 
stripes." 

"De  Salvieres  .  .  .  The  Duke?"  mused  Laurence,  aloud. 

"Yes!  The  Duke,  of  course!  Do  you  know  him, 
Laurence?  He  has  a  chateau  on  the  Normandy  cliffs — 
the  chateau — le  plus  beau  chateau  de  France,  I  believe 
honestly;  and  so  picturesque,  with  its  machicolations,  its 
keep,  its  dungeons,  and  turrets  and  towers!  It  looks  as 
if  Gustave  Dore  had  built  it.  Also  Basil  has  two  brothers — 
the  youngest,  who  is  in  the  Corps-des-Pages  of  the  Czar, 
and  then  Andre",  an  officer  in  the  Chevaliers-Gardes,  all 
white  and  gold  and  silver,  and  taller  even  than  Basil, 
with  big  blue  eyes,  a  yellow  mustache,  a  complexion  as 
rosy  as  a  baby's,  a — " 

"He  must  be  lovely,"  interrupted  Laurence,  "and  look 
as  if  he  had  rolled  about  on  a  rainbow,  your  cousin  Andre"." 

Marguerite  stared.  The  tone  rather  than  the  words 
surprised  her.  This  quaint  little  being,  still  at  the  ten- 
der age  of  easy  laughter  and  easy  tears,  hated  mockery 

21 


MOONGLADE 

when  it  was  directed  toward  what  she  loved  and  honored. 
Her  slangy  childish  tongue,  so  apt  to  speak  at  random, 
never  gave  its  assistance  to  unkind  sayings,  and  for  the 
second  time  since  they  knew  each  other  Laurence  felt 
that  she  had  struck  a  false  note.  Indeed,  the  "Gamin" 
looked  at  that  minute  like  a  small  game-cock  of  ruffled 
plumage  and  sparkling  eyes. 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  did  not  know  a  harmless  joke 
could  offend  you,"  Laurence  apologized. 

"It  did  not  offend  me!"  stoutly  declared  Marguerite. 
"  But — I  don't  know  why — I  can't  bear  to  have  my  people 
laughed  at." 

"Your  people!  You  are  so  excessively  and  exclusively 
a  Bretonne,  that  one  cannot  realize  your  claiming  kin  with 
Muscovites." 

"When  I  say  my  people  I  mean  all  who  belong  to  me, 
which  includes,  of  course,  the  Palitzins." 

Again  Laurence,  not  quite  at  her  keenest  on  this  occa- 
sion, overstepped  the  bounds  of  prudence,  certainly  those. 
of  Breton  delicacy — which  are  finely  drawn — for,  piqued 
at  Marguerite's  plainness  of  speech — perhaps  at  some- 
thing else,  too — she  quickly  retorted: 

"I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  you  are  in  love  with 
Prince  Basil!" 

Marguerite's  blue  eyes  widened,  her  pretty  lips  straight- 
ened, and  she  rose  to  her  feet. 

"I  am  sure  papa  must  be  fainting  with  ennui,"  she  said 
in  a  level  voice.  "Let's  go  and  challenge  him  to  a  game 
of  billiards.  It  is  his  hour  for  play !"  And  she  glided  off 
with  the  lithe  grace  which  betrays  great  strength  con- 
cealed in  satin  softness. 

"The  cut  direct!"  Laurence  muttered,  following  her, 
and  smiling  in  a  fashion  that  strove,  quite  unsuccessfully, 
to  be  pleasingly  indulgent.  "  Bother  these  Breton  prudes ! 
I'll  have  to  mend  my  paces  here,  it  seems,"  she  muttered, 
as  she  crossed  the  gallery. 


CHAPTER  III 

If  the  tongue's  a  consuming  fire, 
Then  judging  by  the  consternation 
The  written  syllables  inspire, 
A  letter  is  a  conflagration. 

"I'M  sure  you  must  be  mistaken.  It  cannot  be  pos- 
sible!" 

Madame  Gervex,  Marguerite's  governess  and  compan- 
ion, turned  her  perplexed,  good-natured  face  toward  the 
gray-haired  land-steward  who  had  begun  his  labors  at 
Plenhoel  in  the  time  of  the  present  Marquis's  father. 
They  were  standing  together  on  the  far  end  of  a  lower 
side  terrace  overlooking  the  green  silver  of  the  bay,  to- 
day in  one  of  its  most  charming  and  innocent  moods. 
There  was  scarcely  a  ripple  to  be  seen:  a  mere  fringe  of 
dainty  foam  hemmed  the  rising  tide  as  it  lazily  fretted 
up  the  narrow  pebbly  beach.  A  cable-length  or  so  be- 
yond that  lace-like  border  a  large  float  rode  at  anchor, 
and  Marguerite,  Laurence,  Basil,  and  "Antinous"  were 
alternately  to  be  descried  taking  glorious  headers  from  its 
snowy  planking  into  the  placid  depths. 

"  Impossible,  Madame  Hortense  ?  And  why  impossible, 
if  you  please?"  Sulian  Quentin  asked,  with  some  asperity. 
"You  are  so  soft-hearted  and  innocent  yourself  that  you 
can't  think  anybody  is  made  otherwise!  Now  I  tell 
you —  And  he  emphasized  each  separate  word  with  a 
smart  tap  of  two  fingers  of  his  right  hand  on  the  hard, 
open  palm  of  his  left.  "  I  tell  you  that  this  fine  Demoiselle 

23 


MOONGLADE 

from  over  the  Channel  is  well  worth  watching.  Sweet  as 
honey  when  she  speaks  to  you,  but  her  linings  have  been 
dipped  in  gall,  just  the  same.  Bitter!  Madame  Hor- 
tense!  Bitter  she  is  to  the  very  core,  and  envious  and 
mean,  and  capable  of  anything  that's  not  straight.  I, 
Sulian  Quentin,  tell  you  this,  and  you'd  do  well  to  take 
my  word  for  it!" 

"But,  Monsieur  Sulian !"  interrupted  Madame  Hortense. 

"There's  no  Monsieur  Sulian  about  it.  D'you  imagine 
that  I've  navigated  for  fifteen  years  before  taking  hold 
of  things  here  for  defunct  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  without 
learning  how  to  keep  my  eyes  open?  Bah!  I've  seen  in 
my  time  many  sorts  of  female  quality,  brown  and  red 
and  blond  and  black,  pretty  and  otherwise,  clever  and 
stupid,  good,  bad,  and  worse,  but  just  such  a  piece 
as  this  one — !"  He  left  his  indictment  incomplete,  per- 
haps for  lack  of  expressions  fitted  to  his  listener's  ears, 
and  allowed  his  long  arms  to  fall  to  his  sides  in  a  dis- 
couraged manner. 

"But,"  Hortense  Gervex  began  again — "but  what  in 
the  world  made  you  take  such  a  dislike  to  Mademoiselle 
Seton,  Monsieur  Sulian?  She's  doing  you  no  harm!" 

"Yes,  believe  that  and  drink  water!"  he  derisively  re- 
torted. "Look  at  her  now,  do,  just  to  oblige  me!"  He 
was  angrily  pointing  downward,  and  Hortense  Gervex 
bent  over  the  coping  to  see  what  he  meant. 

Plenhoel  and  Marguerite  were  swimming  shoulder  to 
shoulder  toward  the  open  sea,  with  that  calm,  regular 
stroke  which  is  so  telling  for  long-distance  work.  On  the 
float  Basil's  tall  form  showed  clear  as  wax  against  the 
pale  shimmer  of  the  water,  and,  with  her  back  turned  to 
him,  sat  Laurence,  on  the  very  edge  of  the  planking,  her 
feet  dipping  in  the  sea,  her  hair  falling  around  her  mantle- 
wise  and  trailing  behind  her.  Suddenly  she  turned,  swung 
herself  up  on  the  float,  and  stood  before  him,  her  arms 
uplifted  to  raise  above  her  head  the  shining  mass  of  her 

24 


MOONGLADE 

tresses,  her  perfect  figure  displayed  to  its  best  advantage 
by  a  bathing-dress  of  pure  white  cashmere  that  clung  very 
lovingly;  and  there  was  something  so  challenging  in  her 
statuesque  pose  that  the  term  of  "professional  beauty," 
naively  applied  to  her  a  fortnight  or  so  before  by  Mar- 
guerite, took  on,  indeed,  a  newer  and  more  expressive 
meaning. 

"The  minx!"  grumbled  the  old  steward,  elbow  to  elbow 
with  Madame  Hortense.  "Oh,  she'll  net  him,  never  fear 
— and  to  think  that  our  Marquis,  always  so  matin,  alert, 
and  wide  awake,  does  not  notice  her  manceuvers!  As  to 
Mademoiselle  'Gamin' — "  He  paused,  blew  out  the  air 
from  his  chest  with  a  sigh  like  a  Triton's,  and  resumed: 
"She's  too  young,  thank  the  Saints,  to  perceive  such 
wickedness,  and  yet  she's  sharp  as  a  needle,  and  some 
day  she'll  see,  and  then!" 

-"Well  what?  What  will  she  see  some  day,  you  old 
mischief?  What  will  happen  some  day,  according  to  you? 
After  all,  isn't  the  Prince  free  to  marry  whom  he  chooses? 
Isn't  he  rich  enough  for  two?  Why  shouldn't  he  have  a 
beautiful  wife  if  he  likes  to?  Have  you  any  personal  ob- 
jection to  offer,  Monsieur  Sulian?" 

Astounded  by  this  abrupt  style  of  address,  so  entirely 
foreign  to  gentle,  kindly  Madame  Hortense,  Sulian  Quen- 
tin  turned  to  her,  his  self-advertised  eyes  wide  open. 

"D'you  mean  to  tell  me,"  he  impressively  pronounced, 
"that  you'd  approve  of  this  one  for  him?" 

Madame  Hortense  glanced  meditatively  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  float.  "What  have  I  got  to  approve  or  dis- 
approve of  in  such  a  matter?"  she  said  in  a  tone  that  went 
far  toward  answering  his  question.  "Who  are  we,  any- 
how, to  judge  our  masters?" 

Quentin  gave  a  short  laugh.     "Who  indeed?    Who  are 

we,  indeed?    We  who  have  served  them  loyally  for  year 

after  year  this  long,  long  time;  served  them,  and  loved 

them,  too!    Yes,  loved  them  as  if  they  were  our  own  cnil- 

3  25 


MOONGLADE 

dren:  defunct  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  and  Madame  la 
Marquise,  and  our  present  Monsieur  le  Marquis  and  Made- 
moiselle 'Gamin.'" 

"  But  what  have  they  got  to  do  with  it  ?"  asked  Madame 
Hortense,  beginning  to  feel  utterly  bewildered. 

Quentin  went  back  a  step  and  glared  at  her. 

"You're  a  bat — a  real  genuine  bat!"  he  said,  con- 
temptuously, "that's  all  I've  got  to  say.  Daylight  is 
nothing  to  you,  so  you  might  as  well  go  on  traveling  in 
darkness  all  your  days!  Oh,  have  it  your  own  way! 
Don't  think  again;  it  would  be  idle;  but  still  let  me  com- 
pliment you  on  your  sharpness,  ma  bonne  dame.  Nothing 
to  them!  .  .  .  Nothing  to  them!  That's  a  good  one!" 

He  raised  his  arms  far  above  his  head  in  impotent 
protestation  to  an  unkind  Heaven,  and,  turning  raspingly 
on  his  heel,  left  her  without  further  ceremony  to  digest 
his  cynical  advice. 

During  Marguerite's  convent  days  Hortense  Gervex  had 
lived  at  Plenhoel  as  a  very  superior  sort  of  housekeeper, 
looking,  together  with  Quentin,  after  the  Marquis's  in- 
terests, and  keeping  the  chateau  continually  ready  to 
receive  him  in  the  intervals  of  his  trips  to  known  and 
sometimes  unknown  portions  of  the  globe.  Years  before, 
when  widowed  at  twenty  by  the  premature  drowning  of 
her  husband,  a  fine  young  sailorman  in  command  of  a 
coasting  steamer,  she  had  come  to  Plenhoel  as  companion 
and  reader  to  "  Antinoiis's  "  mother.  She  was  now  fifty- 
five,  extremely  well  preserved,  and  very  comely,  with  her 
thick  blond  hair,  slightly  frosted  with  silver  above  the 
temples,  her  wholesome  face,  and  calm,  blue-green  eyes; 
and  she  literally  adored  the  "Gamin." 

After  Quentin's  departure  she  remained  for  a  few  mo- 
ments more,  watching  the  bathers  frolicking  in  the  wavelets 
below.  Marguerite  and  her  father  were  swimming  back 
now,  and  presently  ran  foul  of  a  school  of  porpoises  play- 
ing ' '  f ollow-my-leader ' '  with  the  utmost  gaiety.  Madame 

26 


MOONGLADE 

Hortense  saw  Marguerite  dive  suddenly  and  come  up 
immediately  behind  a  big,  shining  fellow,  whom  she  play- 
fully slapped  on  the  side.  Girl  and  fish  disappeared  to- 
gether in  a  quick  smother  of  foam;  then  the  fair  head, 
darkened  by  immersion  to  a  golden  brown,  emerged  again 
and  followed  in  the  wake  of  the  paternal  one. 

"Ah,  my  little  mermaid!"  murmured  Madame  Hor- 
tense. "Ma  jolie  petite  sirene!  Is  what  that  scamp  of 
Quentin  hints  at  truly  possible?" 

Her  affectionate  eyes  followed  the  thought  to  the  float, 
and  their  expression  slowly  hardened.  Laurence  was  still 
standing  before  Basil  in  the  same  provocative  attitude, 
still  busy  with  her  splendid  hair,  twisting  and  untwisting 
it,  as  though  to  wring  it  dry.  The  hidden  sun  had  just 
made  up  his  mind  to  peep  through  his  veil  of  pearly  va- 
pors, and  a  primrose  glow  of  delicious  warmth  suffused 
the  two  figures.  In  that  revealing  light  Madame  Hor- 
tense became  suddenly  aware  of  the  science  that  had  pre- 
sided over  the  making  of  Miss  Seton's  costume,  in  spite 
of  all  its  maidenly  whiteness.  The  young  girl's  illuminated 
silhouette  all  at  once  seemed  terribly  shocking  to  her  in 
its  Venus  -like  beauty — (Venus  sortant  de  Vonde) — and 
with  a  short  exclamation  she  too  turned  on  her  heel 
and,  running  up  the  steps  to  the  esplanade,  rapidly  en- 
tered the  chateau.  Her  brows  were  knit  and  the  flame  of 
indignation  shone  war-like  in  her  eyes. 

The  way  to  her  own  domain  led  past  the  suite  of  rooms 
occupied  by  Laurence,  and  with  perfect  deliberation  she 
opened  the  door  of  the  boudoir  off  the  sleeping-apartment 
and  entered. 

This  suite,  comprising  a  bed,  dressing  and  bath  room, 
besides  the  boudoir  in  question,  was  designated  by  the 
household  as  la  voliere;  for  the  whole  plan  of  decoration 
was  based  upon  bird  life.  It  had  been  a  fantasy  of  a 
Marquise  de  Plenhoel,  arriving  as  a  bride  there  from  the 
Court  of  Versailles,  to  evolve  for  her  own  personal  use 

27 


MOONGLADE 

this  dainty  retreat,  so  completely  at  variance  with  the 
grim  fortress  on  the  coast  of  Finisterre.  She  had  been  of 
a  gay  and  witty  spirit,  had  this  pretty  Marquise,  and  this 
was  testified  by  the  ingenuity  with  which  these  embellish- 
ments had  been  planned. 

From  the  exquisite  lampas  covering  the  walls,  where 
flights  of  winged  things  seemed  alive  amid  branches  of 
pale  brocaded  roses  and  apple-blossoms,  from  the  curtains 
and  portidres  of  like  material,  the  beautifully  medallioned 
and  painted  ceilings,  the  pink-marble  fireplaces  and  faint- 
ly gilded  cornices,  down  to  the  very  carpets,  lounges,  and 
chairs,  birds  and  flowers  were  repeated  in  every  imagin- 
able hue  and  tint.  Carved,  embroidered,  painted,  and 
chiseled,  the  feathered  tribes  hovered  between  garlands 
of  bloom  as  admirably  preserved  as  if  the  hands  of  the 
artists  had  but  just  put  the  finishing  touches  to  their 
gracious  task.  The  inspirer  of  it  all  had  died  on  the 
guillotine  in  1794,  but  her  pastel  portrait  hanging  in  the 
boudoir  smiled  the  imperishable  smile  of  an  all-conquering 
loveliness  and  charm. 

Her  azure  gaze,  so  proud  and  high-bred  beneath  the 
powdered  and  diamond-dewed  waves  of  her  coiffure, 
riveted  Madame  Hortense's  attention,  as  it  always  did 
when  her  duties  called  her  to  that  portion  of  the  State 
Apartments.  She  paused  before  the  cupid-wreathed 
frame,  and  gazed  at  the  slender  waist  in  the  silk-and-lace 
corselet  of  a  Court  toilette;  at  the  slim  hands  clasped  over 
the  nacre  sticks  of  a  point  d'Argentan  fan;  at  the  trail  of 
jasmine  intermingled  with  strands  of  great  pearls, 
crossing  like  the  ribbon  of  some  Order  from  the  right 
shoulder  to  the  left  side  of  the  cloth-of-silver  girdle,  and 
she  sighed  profoundly. 

"Ah!  quelle  pitti!"  she  whispered,  "qwlle  pitie!"  Then, 
struck  by  a  sudden  thought,  she  bent  swiftly  forward. 
"  How  Marguerite  resembles  her !"  she  resumed,  half  aloud. 
"I  had  never  noticed  that  before."  And  a  shade  of  fear 

28 


MOONGLADE 

darkened  her  own  eyes  for  an  instant.  But  she  had  not 
come  to  indulge  in  vain  contemplations  and  vague  fore- 
bodings. So,  straightening  herself,  she  cast  a  quick  look 
about  the  room.  Inside  one  of  the  window-places  a  Louis 
XVI.  desk  of  celadon-green  wood,  inlaid  preciously  with 
more  birds  and  flowers,  had  been  left  open.  On  the  vel- 
vet-covered writing-board  lay,  in  unpleasant  contrast,  one 
of  those  eminently  durable  and  business-like  blotting- 
books  for  which  the  world  is  indebted  to  England.  Cov- 
ered in  pigskin,  it  displayed  the  large,  flat  monogram,  L.  S., 
in  visibly  extra-solid  silver,  while  a  fountain-pen  of  similar 
usefulness  and  practicality  had  been  uncapped,  in  danger- 
ous proximity  to  the  softly  faded  lining  of  the  desk. 

If  ever  there  existed  a  scrupulously  honest  and  loyal 
woman,  Madame  Hortense  was  that  one.  Yet  without 
any  hesitation  whatsoever  she  stepped  to  the  window  and 
resolutely  opened  the  blotting-book.  Between  the  rough 
leaves  there  was  nothing  save  a  few  clear  sheets  of  lavender- 
gray  note-paper  bearing  the  same  letters,  L.  S.,  in  violet 
and  gold,  and  Madame  Hortense  let  the  covers  fall  to- 
gether with  some  abruptness.  She  glanced  into  the  im- 
maculate depths  of  a  beribboned  basket  near  by,  and  was 
on  the  point  of  passing  on  into  the  adjacent  bedroom 
when  the  violent  stain  made  by  a  crimson-morocco  vol- 
ume on  the  pale  loveliness  of  the  room  made  her  stop  and 
take  up  the  eye-offending  object.  "Scott's  Poems,  by 
Scott.  For  a  good  little  girl,"  was  the  enlightening  device 
she  read  on  the  fly-leaf,  writ  in  an  angular  and  manful,  if 
not  masculine,  hand,  and  this  was  signed,  "From  Aunt 
Elizabeth."  Madame  Hortense  lacked  perhaps  a  keen 
sense  of  humor,  but  yet  she  laughed,  and  was  about  to 
thrust  the  double  absurdity  out  of  sight  when  it  slipped 
from  her  fingers  and  fell  with  a  crash  to  the  floor,  flying 
open  as  it  fell,  and  flinging  half  a  dozen  sheets  of  the 
lavender-gray  paper  in  as  many  different  directions. 

"Oh!  Oh!  Oh!"  quoth  Madame  Hortense  in  three 

29 


MOONGLADE 

different  tones,  quickly  picking  them  up.     "So  that's  the 
letter-box,  eh?" 

She  was  a  trifle  short-sighted,  and,  holding  the  loose 
pages  close  to  her  eyes,  began  to  read.  She  knew  English 
very  well,  and  followed  without  the  least  trouble  the 
small,  neat  lines  of  script  that  were  disposed  to  slant 
diagonally  down  the  sheets  toward  the  outer  corners,  and 
as  she  read  her  kindly  features  gradually  altered  into 
something  almost  approaching  a  tragic  mask.  When  she 
reached  the  last  word  of  two  copious  epistles  she  con- 
fided them  once  more  to  Scott's  care,  replaced  his  poems 
on  the  table  where  she  had  found  them,  and  left  the  room 
with  a  curiously  stiff  gait,  suggesting  the  Static  du  Com- 
mandeur  in  "  Don  Juan." 

"So,"  she  thought,  stalking  wrathfully  away,  "Milady 
has  a  lover  ...  an  English  lover — created  by  Divine  Provi- 
dence expressly  for  her,  excepting  that  he  is  not  rich — 
an  officer  in  the  Life  Guards,  poor  fellow!"  Pausing 
for  an  instant,  she  leaned  against  the  stair  banister  to 
reflect  the  better. 

"Also,"  she  went  on,  mentally  commenting,  "she  has 
a  confidant — a  cousin  .  .  .  he  is  in  the  Scots  Guards — to 
whom  she  tells  all  her  little  plots!  Parfaitement!  Made- 
moiselle Seton  is  well  provided  so  far.  Add  to  this  a 
millionaire  Russian  Prince  anxious  to  become  her  prey,  it 
seems,  and  an  American  youth  also  possessed  of  vast 
wealth,  but,  alas,  untitled,  who  likewise  is  in  love  with 
her,  and  we  have  the  situation  clear  as  mud.  A  very 
pretty  situation  indeed!  Quentin  is  really  no  fool!" 

She  shook  her  head  dismally,  disarranging  thereby  the 
spick-and-span  neatness  of  her  undulated  bandeaux 
crowned  by  a  bow  of  creamy  lace,  and  sought  her  own 
rooms,  resolved  to  watch  minutely  the  sorry  game  that 
— chance  somewhat  assisting — had  just  been  revealed, 
and  which  presented  many  hitherto  undreamed-of  but 
very  dangerous  possibilities. 

30 


MOONGLADE 

She  who  was  here  to  watch  over  little  motherless  Mar- 
guerite at  once  began  to  heap  a  thousand  undeserved 
reproaches  upon  herself  for  what  she  termed  her  unpar- 
donable negligence,  and  felt  indeed  that  in  the  last  half- 
hour  she  had  become  a  sadder  if  a  wiser  woman. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Ask;   I  will  not  deny,  within  the  strength 
Courage  and  Honor  may  descry  in  me. 
Ask  of  my  service  to  the  utmost  length 
And  I  will  give  it  thee. 

MARGUERITE  was  sitting  on  the  short  salt-grass  at  the 
top  of  the  souffleur  cliff.  Beside  her  was  a  large  reed 
basket,  half  filled  with  mousserons — those  toothsome  little 
pale-yellow  mushrooms  that  grow  in  perfect  circles  all 
over  the  table-land — perfect  circles  from  which,  however, 
one  mushroom  is  always  missing,  because  these  erratic 
cryptogams  appear  only  where  the  Farfadets  (elves)  have 
danced  during  the  night,  a  member  of  their  company  lying 
on  watch  at  full  length  upon  the  ground  while  they  merrily 
disport  themselves  in  an  all  but  complete  ronde. 

The  gray-green  sward  was  still  dotted  with  the  quaint 
formation  close  to  Marguerite,  but  she  had  stopped  har- 
vesting them,  and  sat  idly — a  strange  thing  for  her  to  do — 
evidently  absorbed  in  the  evolutions  of  the  gulls,  which 
kept  plunging  headlong  down  to  the  blue  waves,  appar- 
ently for  no  other  purpose  than  to  fly  immediately  up 
again  and  preen  their  plumage  in  the  veiled  sunlight  of 
the  cliff-top. 

There  was  an  indefinite  expression  in  Marguerite's 
attitude  which  had  never  been  there  before:  not  lassitude, 
not  ennui,  but  a  queer  lack  of  that  verve  and  elasticity 
hitherto  one  of  her  greatest  charms.  Her  delicious  face, 
so  like  the  pastel  in  the  boudoir  of  the  voli&re  suite,  was 

32 


MOONGLADE 

much  as  usual  beneath  the  brim  of  her  sailor-hat,  her  slim 
waist  as  supple,  her  shoulders  as  straight  and  well  drilled 
as  ever,  and  yet,  and  yet — ? 

Nobody  had  noticed  any  change  in  her,  however,  so 
change  assuredly  there  could  not  be. 

A  quick  step  behind  her  made  her  turn  and  see  Basil 
advancing  in  long  strides  from  the  "castle-path" — as  the 
yard-wide  track  westward  along  the  falaise  is  distin- 
guished from  the  one  in  the  opposite  direction. 

"Had  a  pleasant  ride?"  she  queried,  as  he  came  up, 
instinctively  making  room  for  him  beside  her,  as  though 
there  had  not  been  mile  after  mile  of  room  on  both  in- 
terminable stretches  to  east  and  to  west. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  lowering  himself  to  the  grass  at  her 
side  and  pushing  back  his  cap  to  let  the  strong  sea-breeze 
cool  his  forehead.  "A  very  nice  ride.  But  why  didn't 
you  come  with  us,  my  dear  little  'Gamin'?" 

His  dear  little  "Gamin"  resumed  her  contemplation 
of  the  whirling  gulls,  her  eyes  averted  from  him. 

"Oh,"  she  replied,  lightly,  "I  didn't  feel  like  riding 
to-day.  Besides,  these  mushrooms  needed  cutting." 

Basil  laughed.  "A  fine  excuse!"  he  declared.  "And 
as  to  your  not  feeling  like  riding,  you  who,  so  to  speak, 
have  been  born  on  horseback — a  little  Centauress!" 

He  bent  sideways  to  see  her  face,  but  she  petulantly 
left  a  mere  profile  for  his  inspection. 

"Oh,  there's  an  eagle!"  she  exclaimed,  pointing  to  a 
distant  crag,  where  a  solitary  bird  of  great  size  had  just 
alighted. 

"An  eagle!  Yes,  I  think  it  must  be  an  eagle,"  he 
amiably  corroborated,  without  troubling  to  look  in  that 
direction.  "Let  him  be;  he  is  well  enough  there.  Can't 
you  be  serious  a  moment,  '  Gamin '  ?  I  want  to  speak  to 
you." 

His  face  was  grave  now,  and  the  tone  of  his  voice  made 
her  veer  round  with  a  sudden  anxiety. 

33 


MOONGLADE 

"Anything  wrong?"  she  asked. 

"No,  of  course  not  ...  I  only  wish  to  ...  ask  your 
advice  about  a  personal  matter.  You  are  a  very  wise 
little  person,  sometimes,  you  know." 

"Am  I?  It's  the  first  time  I  hear  of  it!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "It  sounds  very  nice!" 

"I'm  glad  it  does,  'Gamin,'  because  it's  the  plain 
truth.  And  I  am  sorely  in  need  of  wisdom  just  now, 
having  apparently  none  left  of  my  own." 

Marguerite  laughed,  and  a  quick  blush  followed  the 
laugh. 

"Set  forth  the  case  for  judgment,"  she  said,  reaching 
to  gather  a  dewy  mousseron  and  tossing  it  negligently  into 
the  basket;  but  he  suddenly  caught  her  hand  and  held 
it  tightly  in  his. 

"  Look  here !"  he  pleaded.  "  I  cannot  speak  if  you  don't 
keep  quiet.  What  I  have  to  say  is  not  so  awfully  easy." 

"It  is  serious,  then?"  she  questioned,  hesitatingly,  her 
fingers  remaining  his  willing  prisoners. 

"Very  serious." 

The  "Gamin"  slowly  shifted  her  head,  and  her  lumi- 
nous eyes  met  his  frankly. 

"Speak  then,"  she  said  in  an  odd  voice,  which  seemed 
all  at  once  a  little  strangled. 

"Well!"  Basil  began.  "Well — now  supposing  you 
were  asked  .  .  .  would  you  .  .  .  would  a  young  girl  like  you 
find  me  too  old  to — to  marry?" 

Marguerite  started  and  drew  her  hand  firmly  away. 
There  was  a  silence  during  which  the  clamor  of  the  gulls 
became  enervatingly  loud.  A  hurtling  squadron  of  noisy 
birds  swept  over  Marguerite's  and  Basil's  heads,  settled 
in  disorder  on  the  grass  ten  yards  farther  on,  and  instantly 
ceased  shrieking. 

"Well?"  Basil,  who  had  also  fallen  into  a  bird-study, 
resumed  with  an  effort. 

"Well,  I  told  you  so  before.  You  are  not  so  very  old." 

34 


MOONGLADE 

There  was  a  pitiful  little  attempt  at  humor  and  lightness 
in  the  words.  "I  ...  you  see  ...  I  was  teasing  you  that 
day.  ...  I  was  much  younger  then." 

"Much  younger,"  he  expostulated,  "four  weeks  ago!" 

"Four  weeks — is  that  all?"  she  wondered. 

"Yes,  just  four  weeks  to-morrow.  I  remember  be- 
cause .  .  .  never  mind  why.  .  .  .  But  you  have  not  really 
answered  me."  He  recaptured  her  hand  and  pressed  it. 
"Do,  'Gamin,'  do,  please  say  something  encouraging!" 
he  murmured,  almost  in  her  ear,  and  quite  unconsciously 
drawing  her  toward  him. 

Her  graceful  body  stiffened,  and  almost  immediately 
relaxed  again.  The  hand  in  his  was  trembling  a  very 
little. 

"I  think  you  would  make  a  very  nice  husband,"  she 
said,  innocently,  not  in  the  least  aware  of  what  she  was 
saying. 

A  quick  smile  lighted  up  Basil's  eyes.  "You  dear 
child!"  he  whispered.  "You  little  darling!" 

Marguerite  sat  quite  still  waiting — waiting  for  she  knew 
not  what;  her  heart  beating  so  fast  that  she  became 
afraid  he  might  hear  it.  Fortunately  more  gulls  were 
swooping  up  from  below  the  giddy  brink,  and  the  surge 
of  their  wings  made  this  improbable. 

"Then  you  would  not  laugh  at  me  if  I  were  to  ask  you 
to—" 

He  paused,  searching  for  the  exact  words  he  wanted, 
and  Marguerite,  her  lips  slightly  apart,  listened  a  trifle 
breathlessly.  "To  help  me?"  he  concluded  with  un- 
expected force. 

"Help  you?    How?   What  do  you  mean,  Cousin  Basil ?" 

She  was  desperately  trying  to  conquer  some  unex- 
plainable  emotion. 

"You  see,  I  don't  like  to  ask  your  father.  He  would 
begin  by  making  fun  of  me!" 

"Fun  of  you!" 

35 


MOONGLADE 

"Oh,  without  a  doubt!  You  know  him,  Marguerite." 
He  had  never  called  her  Marguerite  before,  and  she  won- 
dered why  he  did  so  now.  "  He  is  barely  four  years  older 
than  I  am,  you  understand,  and.  .  .  ." 

"What  does  that  matter?"  she  interrupted,  with  a 
happy  little  smile.  "He — " 

She  checked  herself  and  hastily  altered  the  sentence  to 
a  "He  likes  you  very  much,  you  know!"  which  was  extra- 
ordinarily meaningless. 

"And  do  you  like  me  very  much,  too?"  Basil  asked, 
looking  straight  ahead  in  the  eye  of  the  wind.  It  was  a 
pity  he  could  not  see  her  smile  now,  or  the  expression 
that  accompanied  the  light  casualness  of  her  reply,  for 
both  were  revealing. 

"Yes;  very  much,  Cousin  Basil." 

"I  know  you  do,  my  dear  little  'Gamin,'  and  that  is 
what  emboldened  me  to  ask  your  advice  just  now." 

He  was  still  gazing  out  to  sea,  wrapped  in  his  own 
thought,  while  she  waited,  a  faint  tingling  in  her  finger- 
tips warning  her  that  her  patience  was  really  being  tried. 
She  moved  restlessly  once  or  twice,  until  finally  one  slen- 
der fawn-suede-shod  foot  hung  directly  over  the  knife- 
like  edge  of  the  cliff.  In  the  offing  a  fleet  of  fishing-boats 
that  from  that  height  resembled  a  mere  flight  of  red- 
and-white  butterflies,  were  drowsily  drifting  under  slack 
sails  toward  the  harbor  of  Kastellek,  behind  the  crag 
where  still  sat  enthroned  the  contemplative  eagle. 

Absently,  mechanically,  almost,  Marguerite  pulled  from 
the  rock-border  of  the  salt-grass  a  fat  stem  of  perce-pierre, 
and  stuck  it  in  her  mouth.  The  juice  of  that  briny  plant 
— eatable  only  when  steeped  in  vinegar — bit  smartly  into 
her  tongue,  but  she  did  not  even  notice  it,  for  she  was 
watching  Basil  intently;  his  handsome  profile,  the  deep- 
set  gray  eyes  under  their  energetic  brows,  the  obstinate 
chin,  and  clean-cut  mouth  by  no  means  concealed  by  the 
short,  light  mustache  which  contrasted  so  happily  with 

36 


MOONGLADE 

the  red-brown  hair  faintly  limned  with  silver.  Her  cousin 
Basil !  She  was  very  proud  of  him.  Was  there  any  other 
man  like  him  in  the  whole  round  world  ? 

"I  hesitate  to  ask  you  another  service,"  she  heard  him 
say  now,  and  with  praiseworthy  energy  she  roused  her- 
self. 

"Don't  hesitate,  Cousin  Basil!"  she  said,  with  a  hint 
of  shyness. 

"Do  you  think  you  could  manage  to  sound  your 
friend's  ideas  on  the  subject?" 

"My  friend  .  .  .  the  subject!"  she  echoed,  blankly. 
Whatever  doubt  and  surprise  she  might  have  felt  before 
was  transformed  into  complete  puzzlement.  She  was 
coming  back  from  so  great  a  distance! 

"Yes — your  friend  Laurence,  of  course!  You  see,"  he 
continued,  more  easily  now  that  he  had  burned  his  bridges 
behind  him — "you  see,  my  'Gamin,'  ridiculous  or  not, 
my  whole  future  life  is  centered  upon  her.  I  fell  in  love 
with  her  the  minute  I  set  eyes  upon  her,  and  if  she  refuses 
to  marry  me — " 

With  a  wild  scramble  that  all  but  threw  her  headlong 
over  the  precipice  the  "Gamin"  jumped  up.  She  was 
ashy  white,  and  as  he  caught  her — as  it  were  in  midair — 
he  felt  that  she  was  shaking,  literally  from  head  to  foot. 

"Are  you  crazy?"  he  demanded,  holding  her  tightly  in 
his  arms,  as  if  afraid  that  she  would  try  to  escape.  "  Lord ! 
how  you  startled  me.  What  do  you  mean  by  dancing 
about  like  that  in  such  a  place!" 

She  saw  that  he  was  badly  frightened,  for  his  voice 
trembled  as  he  spoke,  and  she  disengaged  herself  quietly, 
and  in  a  curiously  calm  tone  apologized. 

"I  am  very  sorry,  mon  cousin.  I  hope  you  will  forgive 
the  scare  I  gave  you,"  she  said,  simply. 

"Sacre.  .  .!"  The  rest  of  the  heartfelt  string  of  ob- 
jurgations rising  in  his  throat  bumped  against  his  teeth, 
and  he  swallowed  it  whole,  so  to  speak.  She  had  returned 

37 


MOONGLADE 

a  few  paces,  and,  picking  up  her  basket,  was  standing  cold 
and  pale  as  a  lily,  scanning  the  horizon. 

"Plenhoel  should  hire  a  keeper  for  you!"  Basil  cried, 
with  that  vengeful  irritation  which  invariably  succeeds 
great  frights.  "You  are  not  fit  to  be  trusted  out 
alone!" 

"Thank  you  very  much,  mon  bon  cousin!"  she  said,  with 
a  little  courtesy  in  his  direction.  "Not  you,  I  hope,  how- 
ever. He  might  find  you  inadequate — and,  besides,  if 
you  will  now  take  the  trouble  to  look  yonder,  behind  the 
menhir,  you  will  see  Hortense  Gervex  dozing  over  her 
knitting.  She  is  my  keeper." 

"A  famous  guardian!"  Basil  deprecated  in  disgust. 
"As  a  matter  of  fact  you  have  jumbled  my  ideas  so  that 
I  scarcely  remember  what  I  was  talking  to  you  about!" 

"I  do!"  responded  Marguerite.  "I  remember  it  per- 
fectly, and,  acting  upon  your  recent  request,  I  will  try  to 
find  out  what  you  wish  to  know,  as  soon  as  possible." 

A  quick  suspicion,  as  fleet  as  the  flight  of  an  arrow,  shot 
through  Basil's  heart.  What  was  this  in  her  voice,  her 
manner,  that  seemed  so  queer?  He  turned  and  faced  her 
in  acute  distress;  but  there  she  stood,  apparently  quite 
unmoved,  in  a  perfectly  natural  attitude,  both  little  hands 
clasped  upon  the  handle  of  her  mushroom-basket,  and  in- 
wardly Basil  wrathfully  called  himself  an  imbecile.  That 
child — that  mere  baby — it  seemed  almost  a  desecration 
to  have,  even  for  a  second,  believed  her  capable  of  "grown- 
up" feelings.  Ah!  Yes,  indeed,  she  was  justly  named 
the  "Gamin,"  with  her  boyish,  reckless  ways,  her  laughter, 
her  merry  pranks.  Poor  dear  little  "  Gamin." 

They  were  walking  side  by  side,  now,  in  the  direction 
of  the  menhir,  to  retrieve  Madame  Hortense,  who,  had 
they  known  it,  was  far  from  "dozing  over  her  knitting," 
but  wide  awake  indeed,  very  watchful,  and  gleefully  im- 
agining that  things  were  going  on  quite  satisfactorily 
between  those  two.  Marguerite  had  refused  to  relinquish 

38 


MOONGLADE 

her  basket  to  Basil,  and  was  swinging  it  carelessly-by  the 
handle  as  she  advanced  toward  her  governess. 

"Wake  up !  Wake  up !' '  she  cried,  making  a  trumpet  of 
both  her  hands  through  the  basket  handle.  "Time  to 
go  home,  Hortense!" 

Madame  Hortense  rose,  methodically  folded  her  work, 
and,  coming  on  to  meet  them,  fell  in  immediately  behind 
on  the  narrow  track.  The  grass  for  yards  and  yards  was 
now  covered  with  sitting  gulls,  forming  a  great  restless 
carpet  of  living  snow,  while  hovering  above  them,  a  host 
of  late-comers  violently  protested  against  the  pre-emption 
of  what  they  naturally  considered  their  own  particular 
territory. 

Marguerite  and  Basil,  a  mere  half-head  in  front  of 
Madame  Hortense,  were  silent.  Once  she  stumbled  over 
a  small  stone,  and  laughed  at  her  extraordinary  clumsi- 
ness when  Basil  caught  her  by  the  elbow.  But  there  must 
have  been  something  odd  in  the  timbre  of  that  laugh,  for 
Madame  Hortense  instantly  ranged  up  alongside  and 
gave  her  a  quick,  searching  glance  that  Marguerite  met 
with  eyes  as  bright  and  hard  as  steel.  As  to  Basil,  he  was 
again  sunk  in  his  own  dreams,  and  Hortense  resumed  her 
former  place  with  a  puzzled  sigh. 

Leaving  him  on  the  perron,  and  Madame  Hortense  sit- 
ting unquietly  on  one  of  the  terrace  benches,  Marguerite 
ran  to  the  stables,  ordered  her  favorite  horse,  "Gavroche," 
to  be  saddled  at  once,  whispered  a  few  words  to  the  old 
piqueux,  who  always  accompanied  her  when  she  rode  with- 
out her  father,  and  raced  back  with  nervous  speed  to  put 
on  her  habit. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  she  was  cantering  across  the 
heather  toward  the  forest,  with  the  ease  of  those  who 
have  begun  this  sport  of  sports  as  soon  as  they  could 
stand  on  their  feet,  but  with  far  from  her  usual  pleasure. 
As  she  reached  the  first  pines  standing  sentinel-wise  at 
the  limit  of  the  lande  the  sun  was  just  beginning  its  down- 

39 


MOONGLADE 

ward  course  to  the  ocean-rim,  and  she  realized  with  a  cer- 
tain joyless  satisfaction  that  earth  and  sea  would  still 
for  many  hours  be  bathed  in  that  rose-gold  light,  which, 
save  on  very  few  occasions,  on  hard  midsummer  or  mid- 
winter days,  is  the  veiled  glory  of  Brittany. 

Nobody  at  the  Castle  knew  that  she  had  gone  out,  for 
she  had  bidden  Ireland,  the  piqueux,  to  wait  for  her  in  the 
"yard,"  where  she  had  mounted  "Gavroche,"  and  now 
Ireland  was  following  fifty  paces  behind  on  "Me"ssire- 
Antoine,"  the  "  worst  -  minded  d<wil  at  Plenhoel " — as 
he  was  distinguished  by  his  present  gray -haired  rider 
from  a  vast  company  of  mettlesome  thoroughbreds 
housed  on  three  sides  of  the  equine  "yard,"  very  much 
as  the  hosts  of  the  chateau  were  lodged  about  the  Cour- 
d'Honneur. 

Bending  her  head  beneath  the  sweeping  boughs  of  the 
vanguard  of  trees,  Marguerite  galloped  into  a  narrow 
sandy  path  padded  with  last  year's  pine-needles.  She 
had  adopted  a  pace  that  suggested  flight  from  some  im- 
minent danger,  some  indeterminate  presence  that  must 
be  avoided  at  all  cost.  Her  eyes  had  a  fixed,  harsh  look 
that  certainly  had  never  sojourned  there  before,  and  the 
ungloved  hands,  tightened  on  the  reins,  had  a  grim  ex- 
pression all  their  own.  "Messire-Antoine,"  fired  by  the 
example  of  "Gavroche,"  gave  Ireland  some  trouble  to 
keep  him  at  the  regulation  distance,  so  that  this  worthy 
began  to  wonder  what  ailed  his  young  mistress.  He,  too, 
was  an  ancient  servitor,  a  relic  of  the  late  Marquis,  who 
when  still  a  youth  had  brought  him  back  from  a  hunting 
trip  in  Queen  Victoria's  dominions,  and  ever  since  then 
the  man  had  remained  at  Plenhoel,  well  satisfied  with  his 
lot.  It  was  he,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  who  first  had  put 
Marguerite  on  a  pony  the  size  of  a  Newfoundland  dog, 
settled  her  baby  form  in  the  little  velvet  chair  on  its  back, 
and  gradually  taught  her  how  to  stick  on  something  less 
easy.  Curbing  his  evil-tempered  mount,  he  now  watched 

40 


MOONGLADE 

the  little  figure  ahead  in  the  gray  linen,  close-fitting  habit, 
the  thick,  fair  hair  clubbed  low  on  the  neck  by  a  flat  bar- 
ret of  yellow  tortoise-shell,  the  trim  gray  sailor-hat  tilted 
forward,  and  last,  but  not  least,  the  absurdly  small  foot 
with  its  gleaming  golden  spur  poised  in  the  stirrup,  au 
ras  de  la  jupe.  He  smiled  discreetly  as  he  recalled  the 
winning  of  that  golden  spur  by  "  le  Chevalier  Gamin  " — as 
her  father  had  dubbed  her  from  that  day  on.  It  was  at 
a  boar-hunt,  when,  out  of  a  large  assembly,  she  alone  had 
arrived  at  the  finish  with  the  Master.  She  was  only  four- 
teen then,  and,  as  it  chanced,  on  sick-leave  from  her  con- 
vent; but  the  spirit  of  all  the  past  and  present  Plenhoels, 
their  contempt  of  pain,  their  horror  of  ever  being  beaten, 
had  flamed  up  in  her,  and  the  prize  of  that  victory  had 
been  the  little  golden  token  of  knighthood — not  only  be- 
cause she  had  won,  but  because  already  then  she  was 
bent  on  always  winning,  on  always  being  on  time  to  pre- 
vent her  dogs  from  being  "unsewn"  by  their  fierce  quarry, 
at  the  kill. 

Almost  soundlessly  the  hoofs  of  "Gavroche"  and  of 
"  Me^sire-Antoine "  flew  along  the  felted  forest-track, 
and  not  once  did  Marguerite  slacken  speed  until  the 
"Carre/our"  of  the  "Seven  Sages"  was  reached.  Why 
the  Seven  Sages  no  one  could  tell,  or  had  ever  known  pre- 
cisely, but  here  it  was  at  last,  a  little  break  of  blue  sky 
among  the  crowding  tree-tops,  a  green  island  underfoot, 
luxuriously  moss-carpeted  all  about  a  lofty  throne-like 
rock  indented  by  seven  curious  niches,  which  formed  its 
exact  center.  Foxgloves  in  rich  profusion  proudly  swung 
their  chimes  of  pink  bells  beneath  its  craggy  sides,  and 
tall  ferns  of  extravagant  vigor  grew  in  sturdy  clumps  here, 
there,  and  everywhere.  Its  towering  grandeur  made  a 
new  idea  break  upon  the  painful  confusion  of  the  young 
girl's  thoughts,  and  she  beckoned  to  Ireland,  stopped,  and, 
sliding  to  earth,  stood  holding  out  the  reins  to  him  with 
averted  face. 


MOONGLADE 

"I'm  going  to  the  top  of  the  rock  while  you  walk  them 
about,"  she  said,  shortly,  and  left  him  gravely  alarmed, 
for  he  had  never  yet  seen  his  gracious  lady  so  very  pale, 
or  so  abrupt  and  cold. 

The  top  of  the  Throne  Rock — something  of  a  scramble 
to  reach — was  as  flat  as  one's  hand,  and  to  the  eye  hard 
as  only  black  basalt  can  look — and  be;  but  Marguerite 
flung  herself  down  upon  it,  nevertheless,  and  lay  flat,  her 
hands  crossed  behind  her  head,  her  eyes  searching  the 
pale-blue  gulf  above  for  the  answer  to  her  riddle,  the 
soothing  of  her  stormy  reflections.  She  kept  so  still  that 
a  robin  red-breast  adventured  himself  close  to  her  feet. 
He  bent  his  head  wisely,  cocked  a  wary  brilliant  eye  upon 
the  shining  rowel  of  her  spur,  advanced  yet  farther — near 
enough  to  peck  the  hem  of  her  skirt — retreated  with  an 
impudent  swelling  of  bright  feathers,  advanced  again, 
and  then  with  a  comically  disappointed  mien  flew  up  to 
the  topmost  branch  of  a  slender  birch  hard  by,  and  clung 
there,  gazing  down  at  her  from  that  convenient  height. 
Unfortunately,  the  wide-open  eyes,  with  the  faint  azure 
rings  beneath  them,  had  no  vision  just  then  for  the  picture 
he  made,  with  his  scarlet  breast  and  fluffy  body  boldly 
showing  against  a  trembling  spray  of  purest  yellow,  such 
as  sapling  trees  sometimes  bear  among  their  summer 
foliage — a  dignity  beyond  their  age  and  strength,  like 
a  silver  thread  or  two  amid  youthful  locks,  or  a  line  of 
pain  on  a  young  face;  while  the  sun  went  slowly  on  his 
way  and  the  transparent  shadows  shifted  across  the 
fragrant  glade. 

For  a  long  time  Marguerite  lay  there  motionless.  She 
might  have  been  carved  from  the  rock  itself,  so  little  sign 
of  life  did  she  give,  and  when  at  length  she  rose,  all  of 
a  piece — as  was  her  wont — there  was  no  longer  any  trace 
of  emotion  or  chagrin  on  her  charming  little  face. 

"I'll  sound  her  to-night,"  she  whispered  to  the  deep 
heaven  above  that  apparently  had  given  her  the  answer 

42 


MOONGLADE 

she  sought ;  and,  climbing  swiftly  down,  she  rejoined  Ire- 
land with  a  "Let's  gallop  home,  Irry,"  that  instantly 
cheered  and  comforted  her  old  retainer;  for  the  voice  and 
the  manner  were  once  more  those  of  his  "Chevalier- 
Gamin." 


CHAPTER  V 

Fate  plays  no  honest  game,  but  when 
You  glance  aside  or  back 
She  palms  the  discard  slyly,  then 
Redeals  it  with  the  pack. 

"PAPA,"  the  "Gamin"  said,  "I  wish  we  would  not  go 
to  Paris  this  winter." 

She  was  driving  "Antinous"  home  from  Chastelcourt, 
the  home  of  Comte  Rene*  of  that  ilk,  "Grand  Louvetier  de 
Bretagne,"  and  she  spoke  lightly,  all  her  attention  being 
presumably  devoted  to  the  careful  guiding  of  her  pet 
trotters,  "Scylla"  and  "Charybdis" — quite  a  job  in  it- 
self, being  given  the  tempers  of  the  beasts  in  question. 

"Not  go  to  Paris?"  "Antinous"  asked  in  surprise. 
"Not  appear  during  your  first  season  before  what  is  left 
of  our  world?  Why,  'Gamin,'  what  can  you  be  thinking 
of?" 

"  Oh,  nothing  in  particular,  excepting  of  what  Monsieur 
de  Chastelcourt  told  you  about  the  wolves  in  the  moun- 
tains. It  has  been  years — you  heard — since  they  have 
been  so  numerous,  which  is  not  unnatural,"  she  went  on, 
jerking  the  storm-collar  of  her  long  f uf -lined  driving-coat 
up  to  her  little  ears.  "Brr-rr-rr.  It  is  cold  ...  for  Brit- 
tany, that  is!" 

"Not  down  at  Plenhoel!"  "Antinous"  argued.  "Here 
in  the  foot-hills,  all  right;  but  there  we  have  only  rain 
and  fog  and  squalls  to  our  heart's  content,  which  does  not 
make  for  gaiety." 

44 


MOONGLADE 

"Then  you  are  not  a  real  Breton,  my  father — dear!" 
Marguerite  exclaimed,  tickling  with  the  bud  the"  glossy 
hind  quarters  of  "Charybdis."  "Not  a  bona-fide  son  of 
the  Celtic  Sea,"  she  resumed,  restraining  the  antics  of 
the  deeply  offended  horse.  "Oh,  you  needn't  tug  at 
your  mustache!  I  am  stating  a  fact." 

"Antinous"  turned  and  gave  her  a  quick  look,  but  all 
he  could  see  was  the  half  of  her  profile  between  her  up- 
turned collar  and  the  revers  of  her  fur  toque  drawn  down 
nearly  to  her  brows.  Her  eyes  were  steadily  fixed  upon 
"  Charybdis's "  ears,  this  unregenerate  miscreant  being 
still  somewhat  resentfully  inclined. 

"  Why  don't  you  want  to  go  to  Paris  ?"  asked  the  youth- 
ful father.  "It  is  surely  not  only  the  chance  of  some 
wolf -hunting?" 

Marguerite  replied  at  once:  "The  wolves  naturally 
have  a  great  deal  to  do  with  it,  but  even  barring  them, 
I  should  much  rather  remain  here — at  home." 

"Isn't  the  Hotel  de  Plenhoel  home,  too?  After  all,  it 
has  been  ours  for  many,  many  generations,  which  should 
lend  it  some  of  the  charm  that  the  old  place  here  has  for 
us.  Besides,  all  our  relatives  and  most  of  our  friends  are 
already  in  Paris,  or  will  be  there  soon.  Among  others 
your  beloved  Laurence,  who,  by  the  way,  is,  as  a  Russian 
Princess,  certainly  an  astounding  success.  Poor  old  Basil ! 
I'll  be  glad  to  see  him  again,  although  I  still  can't  help 
being  sure  he  was  a  fool  to  marry  her." 

Of  a  truth  "Charybdis "  must  have  been  in  a  sour  mood 
that  morning,  for  at  this  point  he  cut  such  a  caper  that 
"Antinous"  interrupted  his  discourse  to  advise  Mar- 
guerite to  land  her  team  in  the  ditch  before  worse 
happened,  and  have  done  with  it!  The  sarcasm,  how- 
ever, apparently  did  not  touch  her,  for  she  gave  no  sign 
of  annoyance,  and  as  soon  as  the  horses  had  resumed  a 
more  dignified  allure,  he  went  on,  quietly: 

"They've  been  married  nearly  four  months  now, 

45 


MOONGLADE 

haven't  they?  Sapristi!  How  time  flies!  A  chance 
meeting  ...  a  hot-headed  Muscovite  ...  a  level-headed 
Britisher,  an  infinitesimal  courtship,  a  consent  from  the 
Czar,  a  splendid  wedding-feast,  a  short  trip  to  one's  vasty 
estates,  and  here  is  our  interesting  couple  royally  estab- 
lished in  the  Faubourg  St. -Germain,  and  cradled  by  the 
town  of  revolutions,  where  they  will  doubtless  dominate 
chic  and  fashion.  Ah,  there's  no  denying  it !  Your  Loris 
knows  how  to  paddle  her  own  canoe." 

"You  never  did  like  Laurence!"  Marguerite  observed. 

"No,  I  never  did;  I  don't  mind  owning  up  to  that; 
and  the  high-handed  way  in  which  she  landed  one  of  the 
greatest  matrimonial  prizes  in  Europe  did  not  improve 
my  admiration,  either.  A  girl  as  competent  as  she  proved 
herself  to  be  before  twenty  promises  for  the  future." 

Marguerite  was  turning  her  horses  from  the  depart- 
mental road  into  one  which  opened  upon  it  at  right  angles, 
and  made  a  short  cut  to  Plenhoel  across  the  heath.  This 
delicate  operation  might,  therefore,  have  excused  her  si- 
lence, but  her  father  did  not  think  so. 

"Oh,  hang  it  all,  'Gamin'!"  he  exclaimed.  "You 
know  what  I  mean,  in  spite  of  your  sugar-candy  airs! 
You  won't  tell  me  that  you  were  pleased  with  her — or 
him,  either,  for  the  matter  of  that;  else  why  did  you  refuse 
to  go  to  the  marriage  on  the  plea  of  ill-health  ?  You  plead- 
ing ill-health!  Preposterous!  However,  I  thought  that 
perhaps  by  now  you  had  forgiven  and  forgotten,  and  that 
you  might  be  pleased  to  see  them  once  more." 

Had  her  father  looked  at  her  now  he  would  have 
noticed  the  wave  of  delicate  color  rising  on  what  was 
visible  of  her  face;  but  he  was  irritably  drawing  his 
cigarette-case  from  a  recalcitrant  inner  pocket,  and  did 
not  see. 

"Forgive — forget?  What  in  the  world  have  I  to  for- 
give or  forget,  papa?"  she  asked,  glancing  at  the  somber 
dried  heather  rustling  along  both  sides  of  the  road  into 

46 


MOONGLADE 

misty  distances.  "What  indeed;  since  it  was  I  who  at 
Cousin  Basil's  request  first  spoke  to  Laurence  of  his  'in- 
tentions' regarding  her?" 

"  Antinous,"  a  cigarette  in  one  hand  and  a  vesta-box  in 
the  other,  veered  abruptly  in  his  seat,  and  stared  at  his 
daughter  with  something  akin  to  consternation  in  his 
eyes. 

"You!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why  I  never  heard  a  word 
of  all  this!  What  an  idea,  to  make  a  baby  like  you  his 
messenger,  instead  of  asking  me!" 

"Well,  he  thought  you'd  laugh  at  him,"  Marguerite 
frankly  replied. 

"He  did,  eh?  Jolly  right  he  was,  too,  come  to  think 
of  it.  For  that's  exactly  what  I  would  have  done,  I  dare 
say.  A  man  like  him  to  throw  himself  away  for  the  sake 
of  a  pretty  minx's  bright  eyes,  and  that,  mind  you,  with- 
out knowing  anything  in  particular  about  her." 

"He  was  right  to  mistrust  you,  you  see,"  she  mocked. 

"Yes,  I  see,  but  it  isn't  too  late.  I  promise  you  that 
I'll  do  my  laughing  yet.  Indeed,  'Gamin,'  I  hope  you're 
going  to  reconsider  that  verdict  about  not  going  to  Paris. 
It  would  annoy  me  very  much  to  miss  the  fun." 

For  a  minute  Marguerite  did  not  reply.  Another 
brusque  bend  in  the  road  lent  her  fresh  reasons  for  not 
attending,  but  when  she  spoke  it  was  in  her  usual  tone  of 
semi -banter. 

"  My  dear  papa !"  she  said.  "  If  you  are  bent  on  amuse- 
ment, amusement  you  must  have!  It  is  not  for  an  old 
lady  like  myself  to  stand  in  the  way  of  your  giddy 
doings." 

"Chevalier,"  "Antinous"  interrupted,  "you  do  not 
always  observe  the  deep  respect  due  to  a  parent,  but  I 
will  not  repel  the  hand  you  offer  me  in  peace  and  amity. 
May  these  words  be  my  guerdon !  I  was  wondering  wheth- 
er you  had  some  really  serious  reason  for  disliking  to  go. 
And  here  are  our  turrets  pointing  skyward  over  the  pines, 

47 


MOONGLADE 

so  kindly  let  your  estimable  steeds  have  their  heads.  I 
am  as  hungry  as  a  bear.  Aren't  you?" 

"Very  hungry,"  she  replied,  with  the  enthusiasm  of  a 
sailor  accepting  a  glass  of  water  on  a  cold  winter's  day. 
"By  the  way,  when  do  you  wish  to  leave  Plenhoel?" 

"As  soon  as  you  like  ...  or  can.  The  first  week  of 
January  I  think  would  be  a  fairly  good  time.  Of  course 
Christmas  and  New- Year  are  better  spent  on  our  own 
land.  In  spite  of  what  you  say,  I  am  almost  as  Breton 
in  heart  and  soul  as  you  are  yourself,  man  Chevalier — take 
care  of  that  stone  near  the  clump  of  reeds  yonder,  "  Scylla  " 
seems  determined  to  swallow  it  en  passant." 

"Leurs  Altesses  Serenissimes  le  Prince  et  la  Prince sse 
Palitzinr 

The  gigantic  footman  sent  these  distinguished  appella- 
tions down  the  room  in  the  perfectly  intoned  accents  of 
a  valet  de  grande  maison,  without  the  slightest  striving 
after  bombastic  effect,  and  Marguerite  quietly  rose  from 
the  place  before  the  fire  where  she  was  entertaining  some 
guests.  It  was  the  first  reception  given  by  the  Plenhoels 
since  their  arrival  in  Paris,  and  the  salons  were  crowded. 

Slim  and  graceful  in  her  simple  white  gauze  dress,  that 
fell  about  her  like  fluent  frost,  the  young  mistress  of  the 
house  wore  no  jewels,  a  little  branch  of  white  heather 
alone  defining  the  heart-shaped  opening  of  the  corsage. 
With  a  charming  smile  she  advanced  to  meet  the  strikingly 
handsome  couple  that  was  focusing  all  eyes  in  this  choice 
assemblage,  and  her  voice  was  coolly  gracious  as  she  bade 
them  welcome. 

Laurence  was  even  more  beautiful — if  that  were  pos- 
sible— than  she  had  been  before  her  marriage.  Her  lithe 
shape  seemed  taller,  and  in  her  trailing  gown  of  almond- 
green  velvet,  bordered  with  a  fine  rouleau  of  ermine,  she 
had  something  decidedly  queenly. 

She  bent  as  though  to  embrace  her  cousin  by  mar- 


MOONGLADE 

riage,  but,  though  she  could  not  have  told  how,  found  her- 
self merely  shaking  hands  with  that  erstwhile  "dearest 
of  all  friends,"  who  immediately  turned  to  Basil,  uttering 
a  commonplace  compliment  of  congratulation. 

He  was  beaming  with  happiness,  and  when  "  Antinous," 
who  had  followed  his  daughter,  added  his  felicitations  to 
hers,  he  actually  grew  red  with  pleasure. 

"Yes!"  he  said,  exultantly,  letting  his  wife  and  Mar- 
guerite pass  on,  and  detaining  "Antinous"  by  the  arm. 
' '  Yes,  I  am  a  lucky  dog !  Look  at  her !  Isn't  she  a  marvel  ? 
Wasn't  I  right  when  I  called  her  that  long  ago — and  ex- 
quisite, my  dear  fellow,  in  temper,  in  manner — oh,  in 
everything!" 

Never  had  the  Marquis  de  Plenhoel  heard  his  kinsman 
express  himself  with  so  much  warmth  or  at  such  length. 
Interested  by  this  transformation,  he  glanced  at  the  ser- 
pentine folds  of  Laurence's  long  train,  coiling  and  uncoil- 
ing behind  her  as  she  walked  beside  Marguerite,  and  then 
back  at  the  once  taciturn  Basil.  He  had  always  thought 
his  cousin  a  trifle  too  unemotional,  and  an  amused  smile 
showed  under  his  blond  mustache. 

"How  ill  we  judge  women  at  first  sight!"  he  remarked, 
lightly.  "D'you  remember  your  first  view  of  Laurence 
in  that  gorgeous  storm  at  Plenhoel?  Who  then  would 
have  imagined — " 

"Speak  for  yourself,  R6gis,"  Basil  countered,  hastily. 
"You  were  the  one  who  found  fault.  I  fell  in  love  with 
her  at  first  sight,  I  tell  you.  As  to  you,  permit  me  to 
suggest  that  you  were  not  using  your  habitual  keenness 
of  vision  that  morning." 

"Perhaps!  Perhaps!  I  always  said,  though,  that  she 
was  a  beauty,  you  remember,  and  now  I'll  improve  upon 
that.  Marriage  decidedly  agrees  with  her,  and  she  has 
become  absolutely  superb." 

Once  more  Basil  flushed  with  delight,  for  his  cousin's 
appreciation  was  not  one  to  be  disdained.  "Isn't  she?" 

49 


MOONGLADE 

he  said,  with  almost  boyish  pride.  "  But " — with  a  look  of 
contrition  and  apology  so  sudden  that  it  was  almost  ludi- 
crous— "tell  me,  Re"gis,  has  the  'Gamin'  really  been  ill?" 

"Why?"  questioned  Plenhoel,  utterly  forgetting  the 
excuse  made  for  her  non-appearance  at  the  wedding,  and 
instantly  alarmed.  "Don't  you  think  she  looks  well?" 
All  thought  of  banter  had  suddenly  left  him,  and  he  in- 
voluntarily took  a  step  toward  the  place  where  Mar- 
guerite was  attending  to  her  duties,  presenting  one  guest 
after  another  to  Laurence,  and  that  with  amazing  ease 
for  a  girl  not  yet  seventeen. 

"She  looks  adorable,  as  usual,"  Basil  said,  slowly. 
"That  goes  without  saying;  but  I  don't  know,  she  seems 
elongated  somehow .  .  .  not  thinner  .  .  .  not  taller,  either; 
just  a  trifle  more  ethereal;  more  like  a  dream."  He 
paused  and  fixed  his  deep  eyes  on  his  little  comrade — as  he 
had  used  to  style  her.  "I  left  a  sheaf  of  sun-rays,  and 
find  one  made  of  moonbeams — no,  a  moonglade — that's 
the  word — yes,  that's  the  exact  impression  she  gives 
now — a  quiet,  restful,  lovely  moonglade." 

"You're  getting  positively  lyrical,"  "Antinous"  re- 
torted, impatiently.  "A  moonglade,  indeed!  Why,  she's 
as  full  of  life  as  a  two-year-old,  and  as  jolly  as  a  sand- 
piper. Idiot!"  he  was  thinking  to  himself.  "He's  so 
absorbed  by  his  new  toy  that  he  can't  see  straight  any 
longer.  Decidedly  a  man  of  one  idea  at  a  time!"  And 
he  invited  his  cousin  to  come  and  have  a  cigar  in  the 
smoking-room,  with  indifferently  concealed  irritation. 

Meanwhile  Laurence  was  enjoying  to  the  full  the  suc- 
cess which  she  had  encountered  wherever  she  had 
gone  since  her  marriage.  From  beneath  her  long,  curv- 
ing lashes  she  eagerly  watched  the  effect  she  was  pro- 
ducing, and  her  rather  too  small  ears — a  sure  sign  of 
selfishness — adorned  with  priceless  pearls,  were  quick  to 
catch  the  compliments  upon  her  beauty  that  Marguerite 
was  receiving. 

50 


MOONGLADE 

"Dtlicieuse!  Ravissante!  Mais,  elk  est  jolie  comme  un 
amour,  votre  cousine!"  It  was  intensely  enjoyable,  this 
long-awaited  manna  bedewing  aprbs-coup  the  desert  of 
her  past  life,  so  bitter  and  so  humiliating  when  this  am- 
bitious woman  looked  back  at  it,  now  that  she  had  ar- 
rived! No  more  pronunciamientos  from  Aunt  Elizabeth, 
no  more  charity  from  splenetic  Uncle  Bob — ever  grumpy 
when  not  aboard  his  beloved  yacht.  No !  Laurence  was 
her  own  mistress  now,  with  power  and  wealth  unspeakable 
at  her  command.  She  was  beautiful;  she  was  not  quite 
twenty;  at  her  feet  knelt  a  man  no  less  her  lover  because 
she  was  his  by  the  imperial  word  of  church  and  state — in- 
deed, rather  more  so — being  given  Basil's  peculiarly 
chivalrous  nature,  his  blind  passion  for  her.  She  had 
reached  to-night  the  very  apogee  of  all  her  earthly  de- 
sires, and  therefore  that  was  naturally  the  moment  for  her 
to  feel  the  blood  crowd  back  upon  her  heart  as  a  voice 
not  heard  for  seeming  ages  spoke  suddenly  at  her  shoulder. 

"  Permit  me,  madame,  to  recall  myself  to  your  memory." 
The  words  were  irreproachable,  so  was  the  attitude  of  the 
tall,  good-looking  soldier  bowing  low  before  her,  but  she 
could  willingly  have  annihilated  him  then  and  there. 

"Neville!"  she  cried,  before  recovering  her  presence 
of  mind.  "Captain  Moray!  How — how  are  you  here?" 

"As  naturally  as  you  are  yourself — madame.  I,  too, 
have  the  honor  of  being  counted  a  friend  in  this  hospitable 
house.  Moreover,  I  have  just  been  appointed  Military 
Attach^  to  the  British  Embassy  here." 

She  winced.  Good  Heavens !  What  could  they  mean  in 
England  by  sending  this  young  man,  of  all  people  in  the 
world,  to  Paris,  where  she,  the  Princess  Palitzin,  intended 
to  make  her  home  for  several  months  out  of  every  year! 

"Indeed!"  she  said,  with  passably  assumed  indifference. 
"I  congratulate  you." 

"Thank  you!  I  am  rather  young  for  the  post,  of 
course,  but  my  uncle  ..." 


MOONGLADE 

"It  is  always  agreeable  to  have  friends  at  Court,"  she 
retorted,  and  felt  horribly  vexed  at  the  difficulty  she  ex- 
perienced in  giving  vent  to  this  platitude.  She  had 
much  to  learn,  had  this  Princess  out  of  a  fairy-tale — not 
hardened  as  yet  to  the  world's  surprises,  not  controlled 
enough,  alas!  to  dissemble  convincingly  the  wild  agita- 
tion his  sudden  appearance  caused  her. 

Her  Neville!  The  boy  she  had  loved — as  far,  at  least, 
as  she  was  capable  of  loving.  Her  restless  eyes  scanned 
the  flower-filled  enfilade  of  salons,  and  dwelt  for  an  in- 
stant upon  her  husband,  who,  with  "Antinous"  in  tow, 
was  returning  from  the  smoking-room.  Basil's  personal- 
ity was  of  those  that  impose  themselves  upon  any  milieu. 
Patrician  to  his  finger-tips,  elegant — in  the  delicate  French 
sense  of  this  word  so  misused  by  foreigners — a  full  head 
taller  than  most  of  the  men  there,  he  was  a  Prince  to  be 
proud  of,  a  Prince  Charming — as  Marguerite  had  once 
called  him — in  every  possible  respect.  Why  then  did 
she  feel  her  throat  contract  at  the  realization  that  she 
was,  after  all  was  said  and  done,  his  irrevocably,  and 
that  Neville  Moray  was  henceforth  but  a  figment  of  the 
days  that  had  gone? 

Basil  certainly  dwarfed  his  neighbors;  she  could  not 
help  admitting  it  to  herself;  and  yet  the  English  guards- 
man was  good  to  look  at,  too,  and  had,  moreover,  an  ad- 
vantage over  him  to-night — he  was  in  uniform,  the  soiree 
being  a  semi-official  affair — and  to  a  woman  a  uniform 
always  appeals,  especially  when  worn  by  men  as  manly 
as  Moray.  To  Laurence,  so  enamoured  of  pomp  and 
show,  it  appealed  doubly. 

Fortunately  for  her,  Marguerite  came  toward  her  at 
that  moment.  "Laurence,"  she  said,  "the  Dowager 
would  like  to  know  you." 

"The  Dowager?"  Laurence  said,  slowly,  her  lips  still 
trembling  a  little. 

"The  old  Duchesse  de  Montemare,"  the  "Gamin"  ex- 

52 


MOONGLADE 

plained.  "You  know  she  is  the  arbiter  par  excellence  of 
our  coterie.  Will  you  come  and  be  presented?"  Then 
catching  sight  of  the  Captain,  she  turned  to  him  with  a 
smile  of  welcome. 

"Good  evening,  Captain  Moray.  I  had  not  seen  you 
enter." 

"  I  have  been  trying  for  ten  minutes  to  approach  you, 
mademoiselle,  but  you  were  quite  unapproachable,"  he 
explained,  bending  low  before  her.  "I  have,  however, 
been  happy  enough  to  pay  my  respects  to  your  father." 

"Ah!  Very  well.  Platnowsky  is  going  to  play  for  us 
presently.  I  hope  you'll  enjoy  it.  He  has  a  positive 
genius  for  entrancing  an  audience,  irrespective  of  nation- 
ality, creed,  taste,  or  personal  inclinations." 

"Hm — he  is  not  the  only  one,"  Neville  said,  softly,  his 
golden-brown  eyes  lingering  admiringly  upon  the  ex- 
quisite contour  of  Marguerite's  face  and  form.  "Will 
you  sing  for  us  to-night,  mademoiselle?" 

"I!  You  are  not  thinking  of  what  you  say,  Capitaine. 
I !  Sing  after  Platnowsky's  wonderful  playing,  and  Sefiora 
Vizazona's  folk-songs  in  A  minor!"  But  an  impatient 
touch  on  the  arm  made  Marguerite  turn  and  gaze  at 
Laurence,  who,  with  heightened  color  and  a  toss  of  the 
head  that  made  the  diamonds  in  her  tiara  sparkle  furious- 
ly, was  attempting  to  draw  her  away. 

"I  am  waiting!"  she  said,  shortly. 

"/  almost  waited  is  how  Louis-Quatorze  put  it!"  re- 
joined Marguerite.  "This  sort  of  thing  was  managed 
better  then."  And  with  a  nod  to  Captain  Moray  she 
preceded  Laurence  across  the  room. 

"What  an  exquisite  little  creature!"  mused  Moray, 
as  he  watched  her  disappearing  into  the  music-room.  He 
drew  a  deep  breath  and  made  his  way  unobtrusively  to  a 
near-by  embrasure,  where  the  window-curtains  hid  him 
from  sight.  His  disappointment  in  Laurence  had  been 
keen  just  now.  A  few  words  sent  him  before  her  marriage 

S3 


MOONGLADE 

had  acquainted  him  with  as  much  of  the  facts  as  she  cared 
to  reveal.  He  saw  now  before  his  eyes  the  lavender  paper 
she  always  used,  and  the  downward-slanting  lines  of  violet 
ink"  closing  with  this  characteristic  sentence:  "Beggars 
are  no  choosers.  They  do  what  they  must.  Pity  me!" 

From  the  shadowy  corner  where  he  stood,  the  new  Mili- 
tary Attache*  surveyed  the  brilliantly  lighted  salons  with 
meditative  eyes.  He  fell  to  wondering  why  she  had 
written  that  hypocrite  "Pity  me!"  Basil,  still  chatting 
with  Re*gis  de  Plenhoel,  was  only  a  few'feet  away,  and  the 
watcher  had  to  confess  to  himself  that  this  handsome 
aristocrat — every  inch  a  man — with  the  stars  of  some 
great  Orders  on  his  coat,  his  winning  smile  and  high-bred 
bearing,  was  not  to  be  classed  with  those  whom  a  woman 
is  very  sorry  to  have  married.  Moreover,  Laurence  had 
been  looking  not  only  happy,  but  singularly  triumphant, 
before  his  own  appearance  within  her  range  of  vision. 
Her  exultant  attitude,  her  sumptuous  toilette,  her  regal 
jewels,  did  not  frame  somehow  with  the  picture  one  makes 
oneself  of  a  poor  heartbroken  creature — merge  et  martyr 
— forced  into  a  distasteful  union;  and  for  the  first  time 
his  love  and  loyalty  for  her  wavered. 

Presently  she  came  back  toward  the  sofa  where  Basil 
and  "Antinous"  were  established.  She  was  leaning  on 
the  arm  of  an  Ambassador,  extremely  young-looking  for  so 
weighty  a  distinction,  who  was  obviously  delighted  with 
his  present  role  as  cavalihe-servente  to  the  most-looked-at 
woman  in  the  room.  Laurence,  her  pretty  color  height- 
ened, her  eyes  sparkling  with  animation,  was  responding 
to  his  graceful  compliments  in  faultless  Italian,  "flying 
her  hands"  as  if  really  to  the  manner  born.  The  two  men 
on  the  sofa  had  risen,  and  the  little  group  was  now  so 
close  to  Neville  that  he  could  hear  every  word  distinctly. 
And  suddenly  through  the  archway  of  the  music-room 
he  saw  Marguerite  de  Plenhoel  standing  by  the  concert 
piano,  where  Platnowsky  had  just  installed  himself,  and 

54 


MOONGLADE 

half  unconsciously  he  took  a  step  in  that  direction",  put- 
ting aside  the  curtain,  and  standing  for  a  second  irresolute 
and  half  revealed. 

Laurence's  eyes,  meeting  his,  changed  to  extreme  harsh- 
ness, and  in  a  voice  new  to  her  audience — especially  to. 
Basil — she  asked  him  to  have  their  carriage  called. 

"Not  before  hearing  Platnowsky!"  remonstrated  "An- 
tinous."  "He  is  the  nail  of  the  evening — and  looks  it," 
he  added,  indicating  the  interminable  maestro,  thin  al- 
most to  emaciation,  and  topped  by  an  exuberant  mane 
of  dull  potato-colored  hair,  weeping-willowing  across  his 
melancholy  brow.  But  Laurence  was  not  attuned  to 
humorous  remarks  just  now,  and  with  an  impatient  ges- 
ture she  reiterated  what  might  easily  have  been  mistaken 
for  a  command,  and  encountered  Basil's  glance  of  aston- 
ishment with  a  frown. 

"She  is  afraid  of  me,"  Neville  thought,  as  with  a  bow 
he  passed  on  toward  the  music-room.  "Afraid  of  me! 
Can  it  be  possible?  What  does  she  take  me  for?"  He 
felt  very  unhappy,  almost  ashamed,  and  especially  puzzled. 
What  did  it  all  mean?  Could  this  haughty,  overbearing 
woman  be  the  same  who  in  the  grace  of  all  her  girlish 
beauty  had  spoken  so  tenderly  to  him  on  the  moonlit 
lawns  of  Seton  Park  less  than  a  year  ago?  He  glanced 
helplessly  around.  Marguerite's  white  silhouette  de- 
tached itself  against  the  lemon-wood  paneling  of  the  great 
salle-de-concert,  and  toward  Marguerite  he  went  instinc- 
tively, like  all  those  who  needed  comfort,  or  followed  the 
search  of  the  ideal. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Persuade  him — he  is  but  a  man — 
When  you  have  swung  the  lash  above, 
Annoyed  and  hurt  him  all  you  can, 
That  it  was  done  for  love. 

IN  the  brougham  taking  them  home  at  the  stately 
speed  of  their  Orloffs,  neither  Basil  nor  Laurence  spoke. 
The  distance  was  short,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  "Porte 
s'il  vous  plait"  of  their  imposing  coachman  resounded  be- 
fore the  escutcheoned  portals.  The  equipage  turned  into 
a  closed  court,  stopped  beneath  the  glass  marquise,  and 
the  footman  jumped  to  the  carriage  door  at  the  precise 
moment  that  a  Suisse  of  heroic  proportions  and  dazzling 
baldric  gave  notice  of  their  coming,  by  three  short  strokes 
of  his  halberd  on  the  tessellated  floor  of  the  entrance. 

Basil  assisted  his  wife  up  the  marble  steps  and,  gently 
retaining  her  hand  in  his  own,  crossed  the  hall  and  as- 
cended the  great  staircase  with  her.  A  double  hedge  of 
white  lilac  and  narcissus  lined  the  porphyry  balustrade 
on  either  side,  and  somehow  or  other  Laurence  felt  sud- 
denly as  if  their  heady  perfume  made  her  dizzy.  She  fore- 
saw some  sort  of  explanation  between  Basil  and  herself; 
she  knew  that  her  tone  and  manner  had  been  unjustifiable, 
and  false  pride  rose  in  her  at  the  thought  of  being  even 
ever  so  gently  called  to  account. 

Nevertheless,  she  let  him  accompany  her  to  her  own 
apartments  without  a  word,  and  it  was  only  when  the  door 
of  the  salon  d'entree  had  shut  behind  them  that  she  at 
last  opened  her  mouth. 

56 


MOONGLADE 

"It  was  abominably  warm  at  the  H6tel  Plenhoel,"  she 
said,  disengaging  her  hand  and  walking  ahead  of  him 
into  the  adjoining  boudoir,  where  she  sat  herself  down  in 
closest  possible  proximity  to  the  brightly  burning  pine- 
cone  fire. 

Basil  did  not  comment  upon  this  curious  inconsequence, 
but,  bending,  he  deftly  unfastened  the  clasp  of  her  long 
blue-fox  cloak,  and  let  it  fall  in  a  heap  on  the  back  of  her 
arm-chair.  In  spite  of  herself  Laurence  was  ill  at  ease. 
She  gave  a  little  laugh,  and  began  to  unbutton  her  left 
glove. 

"They  are  so  old-fashioned,  the  Plenhoels,"  she  said, 
without  looking  up.  "One  really  thinks  one  is  attending 
a  reception  at  Versailles  under  Louis-Seize.  Did  you  see 
the  way  that  Duchesse  de  Montemare  wears  her  hair? 
I  really  believe  it  must  be  rolled  upon  a  cushion,  like  our 
great-grandmothers',  and  I'd  swear  it  was  powdered!" 

Basil,  leaning  against  the  tall  chimneypiece,  was  look- 
ing straight  into  the  dancing  pink  flames. 

"She  is  the  greatest  lady  in  France,"  he  replied,  "and 
as  to  the  old-fashionedness  of  the  Hotel  de  Plenhoel,  a 
noisily  modern  reception  would  clash  with  those  antique 
ceilings  and  dignified  souvenirs  d'autrefois." 

"Oh,  I  am  not  finding  fault!"  she  interposed,  some- 
what hurriedly.  Then,  looking  up  into  her  husband's 
face,  she  saw  there  something  that,  oddly  enough,  made 
her  suddenly  determined  to  put  him  in  the  wrong.  She 
was  not  going  to  let  him  reprove  her,  even  tacitly — not 
she,  indeed! 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  arrogantly,  "everything  at  the 
Plenhoels'  is  bound  to  be  perfection — at  least  in  your 
eyes.  Fortunately  for  me  I  am  not  as  gullible  as  you!" 

Basil  turned  a  pair  of  sincerely  astonished  eyes  upon 
her.  For  the  second  time  in  an  hour  he  felt  as  a  harm- 
less traveler  feels  when,  without  warning,  he  faces  a  gun- 
barrel  pointing  at  him  from  behind  a  bush.  What  could 
5  57 


MOONGLADE 

be  the  matter  with  his  sweet  little  wife?  he  asked  himself. 
Perhaps  she  was  ill!  He  had  been  annoyed  and  a  trifle 
irritated,  but  at  this  thought  he  experienced  a  complete 
revulsion  of  feeling,  and  quickly  came  across  to  her. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Laury?"  he  asked,  tenderly. 
"Are  you  tired,  my  darling?  You  do  not  seem  quite 
yourself  to-night." 

With  a  petulant  gesture  she  turned  away  from  him, 
tightening  her  hands  upon  the  fan  she  still  held.  There 
was  a  tiny  rending  sound,  and  the  delicate  tortoise-shell 
sticks  fell  apart  in  her  lap. 

"Why,  Laurence!"  Basil  exclaimed,  and,  stooping,  he 
lifted  her  in  his  arms,  sat  down  in  her  place,  and,  holding 
her  like  a  baby,  drew  her  pretty  head  to  his  shoulder. 
"My  dear  child!"  he  said,  affectionately.  "You  are 
ill,  and  it  is  all  my  fault.  I  should  not  have  allowed  you 
to  keep  such  late  hours.  Since  we  have  been  in  Paris  you 
have  been  constantly  on  the  go.  No  wonder  you  feel  done 
up." 

The  broken  fan  had  slipped  noiselessly  into  the  folds 
of  Laurence's  train,  and  she  struggled  half  up,  as  if  to 
recover  it;  but  he  held  her  fast,  and  with  a  shiver  of  in- 
expressible rage  she  suddenly  burst  into  tears. 

Basil  was  nonplussed,  but  for  a  moment  he  continued 
to  stroke  her  hair  in  silence.  He  was  not  an  expert  in 
the  queer  humors  of  women,  like  his  cousin  Plenhoel,  but 
from  his  great  strength  he  looked  upon  them  one  and  all 
as  children,  capricious,  easily  moved  to  shallow  depths 
of  emotion,  a  little  irrational,  and  always  in  need  of 
tenderness,  of  protection,  and  of  caresses.  Therefore  he 
bore  himself  wholly  in  accordance  with  this  belief  during 
this  first  difficult  moment  of  their  already  prolonged  honey- 
moon. She  was  unstrung,  pettish,  a  little  unreasonable, 
yes!  but  adorable  as  always.  All  she  wanted  was  to  be 
soothed,  petted.  He  did  not  even  mind  the  sharp  points 
of  her  tiara,  that  at  every  nervous  sob  came  unpleasantly 

58 


MOONGLADE 

into  contact  with  his  chin  and  cheek.  Let  her  cry  her- 
self out,  poor  dear;  that  was  the  best  thing  for  her  to  do; 
and,  of  course,  after  the  storm  sunshine  would  follow! 
Every  married  man  knows  that !  He  did  not  question  the 
sorrowfulness  of  those  sobs;  they  were  convincing  enough 
to  him. 

"I  have  gone  too  far;  I  have  offended  him!"  the  silly 
woman — interpreting  his  silence  wrongly — was  thinking 
meanwhile,  her  face  hidden  on  his  breast.  "What  shall 
I  do — how  explain?"  For  in  spite  of  herself  she  was  more 
than  a  little  afraid  of  him  now.  Gradually,  scientifically, 
so  to  speak,  she  began  to  temper  the  pathetic  signs  of  her 
distress;  and  at  length  she  ceased  altogether  to  cry, 
snuggling  closer  and  closer  to  him,  however,  as  a  tired 
child  does  with  its  nurse  after  some  great  and  exhausting 
emotion. 

"Better  now,  sweetheart?"  Basil  gently  inquired. 
"Look  up  a  bit,  and  let  us  dry  those  naughty  eyes.  I 
don't  want  my  beautiful  wife  to  be  disfigured  by  tears." 

He  suited  the  action  to  the  words,  raised  her  head  as 
if  it  had  been  made  of  egg-shell  china  with  one  big,  brown 
hand,  and,  possessing  himself  of  the  absurd  morsel  of  lace 
she  called  her  handkerchief,  tenderly  wiped  very  genuine 
tears  of  anger  from  her  long  eyelashes.  Then  he  sat  her 
up  straight  on  his  knee  like  a  doll,  and  asked,  smiling 
imperturbably: 

"Tell  me  now,  oh,  Un-Serene  Highness,  what  causes 
all  this  big  sorrow." 

The  manner  in  which  she  lowered  her  eyes  and  pouted 
partook  of  nothing  less  than  genius.  Her  white  breast 
was  still  rising  and  falling  charmingly  in  its  frame  of  vel- 
vet and  ermine,  making  the  big  octagonal  diamonds  hang- 
ing from  her  necklace  throb  with  prismatic  light,  and 
altogether  she  was  irresistible  in  her  half-contrite,  half- 
resentful  mood. 

"You  treat  me  like  .  .  .  like  a  baby,"  she  murmured, 

59 


L1OONGLADE 

pettishly.  "And  yet  I  am  your  wife,  and  I  have  my 
rights,  haven't  I?" 

"Most  decidedly!"  he  agreed,  repressing  a  smile  with 
difficulty.  What  was  coming  now! 

"Well,  then,"  she  went  on,  twisting  the  little  chain  of 
decorations  in  his  buttonhole  between  her  slim  fingers, 
"why  should  I  not  feel  hurt  when  you  show  me,  so  very 
rudely,  that  I  am  not  first  in  your  thoughts?" 

Basil,  greatly  amused,  laughed  outright.  "So,  so!"  he 
said,  gaily.  "You  have  discovered  all  by  your  own  wee 
self  that  you  are  not  first  in  my  thoughts !  What  a  clever 
little  woman  it  is,  to  be  sure!  Especially  under  present 
circumstances.  You  should  be  mightily  proud  of  such  a 
painstaking  and  praiseworthy  achievement." 

"You  can  laugh!"  she  cried,  leaping  from  his  knee  and 
confronting  him,  her  cheeks  flaming  with  real  indignation. 
"You  can  laugh  as  much  as  you  please,  but  I'm  not 
laughing . . .  not  laughing  at  all,  I  assure  you  . . .  nor  would 
you  if  you  knew  how  you  have  offended  and  affronted 
me." 

"Is  this  serious?"  Basil  asked,  getting  to  his  feet  after 
one  painfully  astonished  glance  at  her.  "A  joke  must 
not  be  carried  too  far,  you  know,  my  dear." 

Laurence  blushed  crimson.  She  was  as  yet  a  novice  at 
such  a  game,  and  her  lord  and  master  looked  extraordi- 
narily imposing,  towering  there  in  that  bijou  room,  walled 
and  ceiled  with  white  plush,  like  an  farin  made  to  hold  a 
pearl.  For  the  first  time  she  saw  new  possibilities  in 
him,  and  a  cold  shudder  ran  down  her  back.  Was  she 
to  resort  again  to  tears,  she  quickly  reflected,  or  was  it 
wiser  to  fight  the  matter  out,  and  obtain  the  mastery, 
now  and  at  once? 

"Are  you  serious?"  he  repeated,  sternly  enough  now; 
and  she  winced. 

"Quite  serious,"  she  murmured,  trying  to  steady  the 
trembling  of  her  lips.  "It  is  sickening  to  see  you  lost 

60 


MOONGLADE 

in  admiration  before  your  cousin  and  everything  your 
cousin  does." 

"Regis?    In  admiration  before  Re"gis?"  he  queried. 

"You  know  very  well  I  don't  mean  R£gis — I  mean 
Marguerite — your  precious  'Gamin.'  The  'Chevalier 
Gamin,'  as  her  foolish  father  and  you  call  her." 

Basil  stepped  nearer  to  her,  put  the  tips  of  his  fingers 
on  her  shoulders,  and  turned  her  face  to  the  full  glow  of 
the  wax  lights  burning  in  tall  candelabras  near  by. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Laurence?"  he  said,  quietly.  " Is 
it  that  you  are  jealous  of  Marguerite  de  Plenhoel?" 

"Yes,"  she  admitted,  attempting  to  shake  him  off,  but 
without  avail,  for  although  he  did  not  exert  the  least 
pressure,  she  knew  that  she  could  not  rid  herself  of  those 
well-controlled  fingers  which  nevertheless  weighed  so  little 
that  she  scarcely  felt  their  touch. 

"You  don't  know  me  yet!  I  am  jealous  by  tempera- 
ment; jealous,  of  course,  especially  of  you;  of  every  word 
you  speak  to  another,  of  every  look,  of  every  gesture !  I 
can't  help  it;  I  am  built  that  way,  I  suppose."  She  raised 
her  large,  resentful  eyes  to  him  so  suddenly  that  he  let 
go  his  delicate  hold  and  remained  gazing  at  her  in  helpless 
wonderment.  Did  she  mean  what  she  said?  It  was  diffi- 
cult to  doubt  that  she  was  in  earnest,  but  so  ridiculous 
was  the  charge  she  made  that  his  face  grew  grim. 

"If  this  is  the  truth,"  he  said,  slowly,  "I  am  extremely 
sorry  for  it.  Jealousy  not  only  denotes  an  entire  lack  of 
confidence  and  trust  in  oneself  and  another,  but  an  inordi- 
nate amount  of  vanity." 

"I  dare  say,"  she  interrupted,  sulkily,  backing  away 
from  him.  "But  you  cannot  change  me.  I  am  as  I 
am." 

"Look  here,  Laurence,"  he  said,  gravely.  "Assured 
of  my  love  as  you  are,  you  cannot  be  really  jealous. 
Surely  I  have  given  you  no  reason,  be  it  ever  so  slight, 
for  feelings  that  are  so  unworthy  of  you?" 

61 


MOONGLADE 

Her  brows  met  in  one  straight  line  above  a  pair  of 
eyes  in  which  there  appeared  for  a  second  a  sparkle  of 
hatred. 

"Well,  then,  if  you  love  and  adore  me  as  you  say  you 
do,  you  might  show  me  more  consideration.  To  begin 
with,  I  will  not  tolerate  your  attentions  to  stupid  ingenues, 
nor  hear  you  praise  'greatest  ladies' — as  you  call  them — 
to  my  face.  I  know  you  have  made  a  sacrifice  in  marry- 
ing me,  since  I  brought  you  nothing  but  myself;  but  as 
you  have  done  so,  I  suppose  you'll  have  to  abide  by  your 
bargain,  such  as  it  is." 

Leaning  against  a  table,  both  hands  grasping  its  edge 
behind  her,  she  was  absolutely  glaring  at  him,  courting  a 
quarrel  with  all  her  might,  and  a  dreary  sensation  of  pain 
and  bewilderment  overcame  him. 

"So!"  he  said  at  length,  in  a  voice  that  shook  a  little. 
"You  are  offended  because  to-night  I  spoke  to  a  little 
girl  of  my  family — a  child  I  have  known  since  she  was 
born — and  ventured  to  praise  a  woman  worthy  of  all 
reverence  and  old  enough  to  be  your  great-grandmother! 
Well,  this  being  the  case,  my  dear  Laurence,  I  can  only 
ask  you  what  you  wish  me  to  do  in  the  future  to  please  you. 
Remember  that  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul, 
and  that  I  am  an  honest  man  determined  to  make  you 
happy  at  all  costs.  Now  speak,  please." 

She,  however,  did  not  do  so.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she 
had  by  now  worked  herself  into  such  a  fury  that  she  no 
longer  quite  knew  what  she  was  doing.  She  vaguely  felt 
that  she  was  acting  like  a  fool.  Yet  she  could  not  master 
an  intense  desire  to  hurt  him,  if  she  could  only  do  so. 

"Please,  Laurence,"  he  reiterated,  looking  miserably 
across  at  her,  "do  not  mar  our  happiness  by  so  uncalled- 
for  a  scene!  If  you  but  knew  how  you  hurt  me — what 
you  are  to  me — you  would  not  act  like  this!" 

But  she  kept  silent  still,  and,  enervated  beyond  meas- 
ure, he  reached  her  in  one  stride,  snatched  her  up  in  his 

62 


MOONGLADE 

arms,  and  crushed  her  passionately  to  him.  There  was 
a  moisture  in  his  eyes  that  he  did  not  care  to  let  her 
see. 

"Laury,  my  little  Laury!"  he  murmured,  shakily. 
"What  is  the  matter  with  you  to-night?  Be  honest  with 
me  at  least,  and  tell  me  the  real  truth,  instead  of  keeping 
me  guessing  like  this!" 

She  swayed  limply  in  his  arms,  unresistingly,  as  utterly 
irresponsive  as  a  cushion  of  down,  her  head  drooping,  her 
whole  body  relaxed;  and  he  bent  quickly,  thinking  that 
she  had  fainted.  But,  no,  her  eyes  were  wide  open,  her 
face  set  in  extravagant  obstinacy;  and  the  feeling  of  utter 
helplessness  which  strong  men  well  know  who  have  been 
confronted  by  the  Ewig-Weibliche  when  at  its  worst 
wrung  his  soul.  What  could  one  do  against  this  passive 
force  of  a  being  so  delicate  and  frail  that  one  could  crush 
it  between  two  fingers  almost,  and  yet  did  not  dare  even 
to  scold  for  what  might,  after  all,  be  the  mere  childishness 
of  a  spoiled  beauty? 

This  plea  of  sudden  jealousy  on  Laurence's  part  was  so 
absurd,  so  lacking  in  all  foundation,  that  he  really  did  not 
know  what  to  think.  Was  it  a  clumsy  excuse,  perhaps,  to 
conceal  a  fit  of  ...  of  temper?  Surely  his  Laurence,  his 
beloved  Laurence,  so  angelic  until  now,  could  not  pos- 
sibly have  a  temper  to  conceal!  Concealment  and  her 
frank  little  self  should  not  even  be  mentioned  in  the 
same  breath.  These  reflections  only  lasted  a  few  seconds, 
but  during  that  short  time  Laurence,  satisfied  by  the  evi- 
dent success  of  her  armed  reconnaissance,  had  cast  about 
for  some  means  of  escape  from  the  impasse  in  which 
she  had  so  stupidly  placed  herself,  thanks  to  that  upset- 
ting encounter  with  Neville  Moray,  and  had  come  to  a 
decision. 

In  another  moment  she  straightened  up,  dabbed  her 
now  perfectly  dry  eyes  pathetically  with  her  handkerchief, 
and,  gliding  from  Basil's  grasp,  began  to  look  contrite. 

63 


MOONGLADE 

"I'm  sorry  to  have  been  so  bad!"  she  murmured,  pite- 
ously.  "I  don't  know  what  possessed  me  .  .  .  for,  really, 
I  don't  have  those  naughty  fits  often!" 

Instantly  Basil  cast  behind  him  all  that  had  taken 
place.  She  was  a  child,  he  told  himself.  Nothing  but 
an  impulsive,  as  yet  immature  creature,  charming  and 
wayward,  whom  he  loved  with  a  great  love.  What  mat- 
tered a  little  cloud  in  a  sky  hitherto  so  pure?  Surely  he 
had  been  in  the  wrong  to  take  the  affair  so  seriously.  He 
would  have  done  much  better  to  laugh  it  away,  and  thus 
did  he  begin  to  laugh  and  pet  her,  a  change  of  front  which 
she  submitted  to  with  seraphic  patience,  especially  as  he 
promised  her — to  commemorate  their  first  little  dispute — 
a  wonderful  bracelet  of  uncut  sapphires  she  had  admired 
that  very  morning  in  the  rue  de  la  Paix.  What  will  you  ? 
Children  must  have  toys  and  bonbons  to  console  them 
when  they  cry. 

A  little  later,  when  he  had  rung  for  her  women,  Basil 
went  to  his  study.  It  was  dark,  save  for  the  fire-glow, 
and  he  did  not  trouble  to  turn  on  the  lights,  but  stood  a 
long  time  at  a  window  overlooking  the  garden  behind  the 
house.  It  had  been  freezing  very  hard  for  Paris — this 
particular  winter  being  of  unusual  severity.  Every  tree, 
every  branch,  gleamed  in  crystal  purity.  The  lawn,  which 
earlier  had  been  powdered  with  snow,  glittered  like  a  car- 
pet of  diamonds,  and  the  hundred  ramifications  of  a  leaf- 
less aristolochia  on  the  end  wall  made  a  twinkling  lace- 
like  tracery,  interspersed  here  and  there  with  broad  frost- 
roses  and  ice-flowers  against  the  dark  stone.  Above  this 
fairy  spot  the  sky  was  sown  with  stars,  only  a  little  paled 
by  the  cold  radiance  of  the  full  moon. 

A  growing  longing  for  his  own  land  gradually  stole 
over  Basil  as  he  stood  there  motionless.  He  drew  a  deep 
breath  of  regret  as  he  called  to  mind  the  enchanting  nights 
on  the  Neva;  the  music  of  sleds,  the  silky  slide  of  sleigh 
runners,  the  fitful  waves  of  the  Northern  Aurora  rising 

64 


MOONGLADE 

and  falling  like  a  softly  moving  curtain  behind  the  towers 
and  domes  of  snow-hushed  St.  Petersburg. 

Until  then  he  had  not  paused  to  think  about  the  change 
that  had  come  over  his  life.  It  had  all  been  done  so 
swiftly.  Dazzled  by  passion,  he  had  never  paused  to  re- 
flect that  he  was  binding  himself  to  a  being  of  another 
race,  another  creed,  another  world,  so  to  speak,  and  that 
such  a  step  might  bring  about  unforeseen  and  very  grave 
difficulties.  She  had  been  so  docile,  so  very  anxious  to 
please  him  during  their  brief  engagement.  Without  a 
murmur  she  had  abandoned  the  old  faith  of  her  people, 
for  Greek  Catholicism.  She  had  accepted — in  theory,  at 
least — with  touching  self-forgetfulness,  the  heavy  duties 
devolving  upon  the  consort  of  a  great  territorial  lord 
responsible  for  the  welfare  of  the  hundreds  and  hundreds 
of  retainers  and  dependents  upon  his  large  estates,  in 
villages  and  small  towns  lost  in  the  immensity  of  the 
steppes,  the  depths  of  the  boundless  forests;  and  she  had 
seemed  to  fully  understand  the  heavy  cares  resulting  from 
immense  wealth,  when  that  wealth  is  not  looked  upon  as 
a  mere  personal  benefit,  but  as  a  terrible  responsibility 
for  which  account  must  some  day  be  rendered  to  One 
watchful  of  His  creatures  and  their  deeds.  Deep  below 
the  Russian  earth  labored  miners  whose  task  it  was  to 
bring  to  the  surface  gold  and  platinum,  gems  and  mala- 
chite and  lapis  lazuli  to  fill  the  Palitzin  coffers.  Vast 
reaches  of  field  and  furrow,  of  forest  and  vineyard,  were 
worked  by  erstwhile  serfs  of  that  princely  house,  in  order 
to  fulfil  the  same  purpose.  Thousands  of  horses  and  cattle 
were  tended  upon  the  plains  by  troops  of  herdsmen  wear- 
ing the  emblazoned  brassard  of  Basil- Vassilievitch  Palitzin 
— the  present  master  of  half  a  province  or  so — and,  strange 
to  say,  none  were  malcontents;  for  their  lord  treated  them 
well,  and  had  made  himself  well-beloved  during  the  years 
of  his  stewardship.  And  now  what  of  the  Princess  who 
was  to  rule  at  his  side?  The  question  was  late  in  coming 

65 


MOONGLADE 

to  his  mind.  Well-born,  well-bred,  well-educated,  she 
assuredly  was.  Why  should  she  not  be  the  absolute 
partner  of  his  thoughts,  his  ideals,  his  plans — and  they 
were  many?  But  would  she  be  that?  He  passed  his 
hand  slowly  across  his  forehead,  and  relapsed  into  con- 
templation of  the  miniature  Muscovy  gleaming  beneath 
the  moon  at  his  feet  and  islanded  amid  the  great  capital 
of  France. 

Paris  with  its  round  of  gaieties,  its  music  and  laughter, 
and  republican  irresponsibility!  Paris,  the  paradise  of 
strangers  from  all  parts  of  the  globe;  Paris,  that  from  a 
thorough  Anglomaniac  had  changed  with  startling  rapid- 
ity into  an  Americo-lunatic;  Paris,  who  threw  wide  her 
portals  to  every  moneyed  invader  that  chose  to  come  her 
way,  and  gave  him  in  return  the  tinsel-glitter  and  costly 
viciousness  prepared  for  his  or  her  reception,  guarding 
jealously  out  of  sight  whatever  remained  truly  French 
and  truly  decent  within  her  walls,  so  that  none  could 
truthfully  speak  well  of  that  famous  modern  Babylon. 
Basil  smiled  a  little  bitterly  as  his  thoughts  ran  on  thus. 
London,  Berlin,  New  York — he  knew  them  well — were 
wiser  far  than  Paris.  They  did  not  flaunt  their  evil  in 
the  face  of  visitors,  not  they!  They  hid  it  scrupulously 
under  the  thick  mantles  of  variegated  religions,  suited  to 
every  taste  and  class.  Human  failings,  frailties,  and 
worse  than  frailties,  were  shut  in  hidden  places  there, 
guarded  by  solemn-faced  warders  who  denied  their  very 
existence  and  profited  by  their  remarkable  vivacity. 
And  Petersburg — once  again  Basil's  mind  flew  back  to  his 
own  dear  capital  city,  where  failings  and  virtues  run  neck 
to  neck,  and  elbow  to  elbow,  in  supreme  carelessness  of 
consequences,  but  at  any  rate  without  either  effrontery 
or  hypocrisy — just  like  Vienna,  only  more  so ! 

Laurence  loved  Paris.  It  was  she  who  had  hinted,  in 
her  pretty  girlish  way,  at  a  speedy  installation  there,  where 
she  knew  so  many  people — friends  of  her  uncle  and  aunt, 

66 


MOONGLADE 

acquaintances  made  during  her  stay  at  Seton  Park;  Wilt- 
shire, and  Seton  House,  Belgravia;  her  summer  cruises  on 
the  Phyllis;  her  short  sojourns  with  Uncle  Bob  and  Aunt 
Elizabeth  at  seaside  or  mountain  resorts.  Before  these 
she  ardently  desired  to  appear  in  her  new  Glanz  un4 
Pracht,  these  who  had  seen  her  in  the  character  of  a  de- 
pendent— and  what  a  bounty  that  had  been!  But  what 
did  Basil  know  about  these  little  secret  plans?  What 
indeed!  He  had  found  it  quite  natural  for  a  young  girl, 
full  of  life  and  of  the  joy  of  life,  to  want  to  spend  her  first 
married  winter  in  the  city  of  worldly  pleasure  par  ex- 
cellence. At  that  moment,  however,  he  began  to  question 
the  wisdom  of  his  having  so  readily  assented  to  her  wishes. 
He  felt  that  it  might  have  been  better  for  him  to  have 
done  otherwise,  to  have  begun  by  making  her  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  her  adopted  land,  her  adopted  nationality, 
her  new  hereditary  dignities  and  duties.  Yes,  the  welfare 
of  his  own  people  was  dear  indeed  to  him,  and  a  flying  trip 
to  his  chief  estate,  where  she  had  been  greeted  and  feted 
like  a  young  queen,  served  but  little  to  initiate  her  to  what 
his  life  among  them,  as  their  suzerain,  had  really  been. 

With  a  puzzled  frown  he  leaned  his  head  against  the 
cold  glass.  "We  belong,"  he  mused,  "to  utterly  dis- 
crepant generations.  I  am  so  irredeemably  slow  and  old- 
fashioned;  she  is  so  intensely  modern!"  He  gave  his 
shoulders  a  shake  of  dissatisfaction  at  these  shortcomings 
of  his.  Then  he  began  to  pace  moodily  back  and  forth 
before  the  huge  fireplace.  "Oh  yes,"  he  reflected,  sadly, 
"  I  suppose  I  will  always  be  saying  and  doing  things  she 
will  instinctively  dislike  and  resent,  and  if  she  really  is  of 
a  jealous  disposition — "  He  stopped,  pulled  fiercely  at 
his  mustache,  and  resumed  his  pacings  and  his  futile 
cogitations  until  his  brain  grew  tired. 

Truly  this  night's  unfortunate  events  had  suddenly  dis- 
closed to  him  an  altogether  undreamed-of  horizon  line, 
and  it  was  difficult  to  see  what  lay  concealed  beyond  it. 

67 


MOONGLADE 

Assuredly  Laurence,  had  she  but  known  it,  would  have 
done  better  to  put  her  hand  in  the  fire,  than  to  shake  even 
by  the  lightest  possible  touch  the  splendid  monument  of 
love  and  trust  Basil  had  built  up  for  her  with  so  great  a 
joy  and  so  great  a  faith. 

Weary,  both  morally  and  physically,  he  at  last  went 
back  and  gazed  out  into  the  garden  again.  Strangely 
enough,  the  image  of  the  "Gamin,"  in  her  diaphanous 
white  dress,  with  her  sparkling  blond  hair  aureoling  her 
little  head,  suddenly  appeared  before  him  with  startling 
reality.  Her  blue  eyes  seemed  to  gaze  deep  into  his,  and 
somehow  she  was  no  longer  the  playmate  of  other  days, 
the  merry  child  who  had  run  and  danced  with  the  wind 
along  the  terrace  at  Plenhoel,  who  had  struggled  with  the 
window-fastenings,  and  climbed  to  the  box  of  the  drag 
bringing  Laurence  that  fateful  morning,  but  a  being  wholly 
different;  a  sorrowing  woman  developed  to  her  uttermost 
possibilities  in  a  few  hours,  a  woman  possessed  of  the 
wisdom  of  all  the  ages,  a  friend  in  all  the  potency  of  the 
word — a  counselor — more,  even  more  than  that — some 
one  to  look  up  to  and  gain  endurance  and  patience  from. 
Involuntarily  he  drew  closer  to  frosted  pane,  and,  looking 
out  upon  the  softly  gleaming  moonshine  by  which  he  had 
symbolized  her  that  evening,  it  seemed  to  him  that  her 
spirit  was  dowering  the  night  with  all  its  enshrined  loveli- 
ness and  shrouded  mystery.  Well!  There  would  never 
again  be  the  same  ease  and  comradeship  between  them  as 
before  Laurence  had  committed  the  folly  of  naming  her 
as  a  rival;  but  did  this  foolish  act  break  the  sweetness  of 
the  past,  or  perchance  lend  a  new  enchantment  to  the 
power  of  a  personality  Basil  had  not  been  clearly  conscious 
of  until  this  moment?  He  drew  away  from  the  window, 
determined  to  cut  short  such  a  train  of  thought  now  and 
for  all  time.  He  must  be  thoroughly  out  of  sorts  himself, 
he  argued,  and  Laurence  had  been  silly  to  speak  as  she 
had  done — not  quite  as  distinguished  in  manner  as  he 

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MOONGLADE 

had  fancied  her  to  be!  The  women  of  his  class,  of  course, 
were  perfectly  capable  of  fierce  jealousies,  yet  they  were 
bred  and  born  to  keep  such  feelings  to  themselves.  It  was 
part  of  their  metier  as  great  ladies.  Still,  his  wife  was  now 
one  of  them;  she  would  be  taught  by  example  the  un- 
spoken etiquette  of  their  decorous  world.  Besides,  he 
was  not  the  sort  to  give  her  cause  for  jealousy;  also  he 
would,  as  far  as  he  was  able,  avoid  meeting  Marguerite. 
Yes!  Yes!  Everything  would  turn  out  all  right — and 
in  the  morning — the  morning —  He  glanced  at  his  watch 
by  the  last  leaping  flames  of  the  crumbled  logs — surely 
it  must  have  stopped — or  else  hurried  on  without  rhyme 
or  reason,  for  it  pointed  at  six  o'clock.  Guiltily  he  stole 
back  to  the  window  and  stared  at  the  garden  below.  All 
was  so  very  still  there — the  sapphire-and-silver  winter 
night  as  yet  undisturbed — but  as  he  bent  closer  he  saw 
that  ever  so  cold  and  faint  a  pallor  was  stealthily  clouding 
its  depth,  its  serenity,  and  with  a  quick,  impatient  sigh 
he  sought  his  own  room. 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  sea,  the  wind,  the  call  of  birds, 
The  leaves  that  whisper,  brooks  that  run, 
No  song  is  ever  void  of  words, 
To  hearts  that  beat  as  one. 

SIR  ROBERT  and  Lady  Seton  were  passing  through  Paris 
on  their  way  to  join  the  Phyllis  in  Mediterranean  waters. 
They  intended  to  cruise  along  the  African  coast,  putting 
in  a  few  days  at  Algiers,  a  week  or  so  in  Alexandria,  and 
then  go  on  to  the  Bosphorus,  which  possessed  the  charm 
of  mirroring  on  its  gracious  bosom  the  minaretted  city 
where  a  first  cousin  of  "Uncle  Bob"  was  representing  his 
country  at  the  Padishah's  Court. 

The  middle-aged  couple  were  for  the  time  being  at  the 
Meurice,  occupying  a  suite  of  rooms  replete  with  every 
comfort,  and  were  at  that  very  minute  enjoying  a  thor- 
oughly English  breakfast  in  their  sunny  private  dining- 
room.  No  such  kickshaws  for  Uncle  Bob  as  foamy 
chocolate  and  golden-coated  rolls  light  as  muslin,  but  soles 
fried  in  torment,  with  an  accompaniment  of  oysters, 
truffles,  mussels,  and  a  seasoning  of  white  wine;  a  porten- 
tous steak,  humpbacked  and  juicy — as  every  self-respect- 
ing beefsteak  should  be — an  omelette  rouged  into  the 
semblance  of  a  modern  beauty  by  its  filling  of  tomatoes, 
not  to  mention  several  other  odorous  trifles  in  the  shape 
of  grilled  sardines  and  deviled  kidneys. 

Lady  Seton  was  already  armored  from  head  to  foot  in 
well-cut  serviceable  tweeds,  similar  in  texture  and  color 
to  those  which  adorned  her  lord's  portly  form.  She  be- 
lieved in  frilly  dressing-gowns  and  coquettish  morning 

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MOONGLADE 

coiffures  no  more  than  did  Sir  Robert  in  over-dainty 
breakfasts.  Solidity,  in  costly  disguise,  was  what  they 
both  preferred. 

Ensconced  behind  the  pages  of  the  London  Times,  Sir 
Robert  was  seated  squarely  before  his  well-filled  plate; 
and  while  perusing  the  news  of  two  days  before  with  the 
greatest  interest,  methodically  carried  his  fork  to  his 
mouth,  and  back  again  for  fresh  supplies.  His  wife,  with- 
out sparing  herself  a  bite,  was  getting  through  a  pile  of 
letters  just  arrived,  leaning  each  one  in  turn  against  the 
toast-rack  as  she  read,  while  "Lady  Hamilton" — a  sadly 
obese  toy  spaniel,  and  her  mistress's  darling  pet — sat 
gravely  on  a  cushioned  chair  beside  her,  gloating  with  all 
her  large,  moist  eyes  over  a  near-by  dish  of  cake. 

"The  Prime  Minister,"  Sir  Robert  remarked,  in  an 
aggrieved  tone,  "has  put  his  veto  upon  the  interference 
of  Great  Britain  in — "  He  glanced  round  the  edge  of  the 
paper,  noticed  his  wife's  total  inattention,  murmured  to 
himself  something  concerning  feminine  frivolity,  followed 
by  a  grumbled  conjecture  as  to  whether  the  Premier  real- 
ized that  he  was  a  public  servant,  or  imagined  himself 
the  autocrat  of  all  the  Englands,  and  finally  relapsed  into 
ominous  silence. 

Just  then  a  servant,  so  prehistorically  dignified  as  to 
suggest  the  Stone  Age,  moved  noiselessly  from  the  door  to 
Sir  Robert's  elbow,  where  he  stood  like  a  statue,  disdain- 
ful of  employing  the  typical  "cough-behind-the-hand" 
manner  of  disclosing  his  presence,  until  the  shadow  of  his 
admirably  nourished  body  falling  athwart  the  sacred  pages 
of  the  Times  did  this  for  him. 

"What  is  it,  Berkley?"  Sir  Robert  asked,  testily;  he 
abhorred  being  disturbed  at  breakfast.  "Has  anything 
gone  wrong?" 

"No,  Sir  Robert — that  is,  yes,  in  a  way,  Sir  Robert; 
there  is  a — er — gentleman  to  see  you,  Sir  Robert,  in  the 
reception-room." 


MOONGLADE 

"A  gentleman  to  see  me  in  the  reception-room  at  eleven 
o'clock!"  Sir  Robert  exclaimed.  "Did  he  send  up  a 
card?" 

"No,  Sir  Robert,  leastways  not  that  I  know  of.  The 
chassewer  down-stairs" — Berkley  was  no  French  scholar 
— "sent  up  the  name  only,  by  the  page." 

"Well — confound  it! — what  is  the  name?" 

"Mr.  Preston  Wynne,"  Berkley  stated. 

"  Young  Wynne !  God  bless  my  soul !  Why  didn't  you 
say  so  at  first?  Show  him  up  immediately,  Berkley. 
Why,  you've  seen  him  fifty  times  at  Seton  Park.  Show 
him  up — of  course  if  you  don't  mind,  my  dear,"  he  con- 
cluded, addressing  his  wife,  who  nodded  consent  without 
discontinuing  her  reading. 

In  a  moment  Mr.  Preston  Wynne  was  warmly  shaking 
hands  with  Sir  Robert,  after  which  he  reverently  touched 
the  extended  tips  of  Lady  Seton's  fingers,  bowed,  and  ac- 
cepted a  chair  facing  the  one  where  "Lady  Hamilton" 
was  now  enjoying  the  audible  slumber  of  the  corpulent. 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  too  early,"  he  said,  beamingly.  "  You 
know  I  wanted  to  catch  you  before  you  left  the  hotel  for 
your  constitutional,  Sir  Robert.  I  remember  your  habits, 
you  see!" 

"Not  a  bit  too  early,  my  dear  boy,"  Sir  Robert  said, 
with  unwonted  geniality.  "I  did  not  know  you  were  in 
Paris,  though.  When  did  you  arrive?" 

"Oh,  a  week  ago  or  thereabouts.  Grandma  Wynne 
was  set  on  being  here  for  Ethel's  wedding,  and  so  I  brought 
her  over.  She's  the  most  indefatigable  old  lady  in  Chris- 
tendom!" he  concluded,  with  a  laugh  that  revealed  a 
double  row  of  strong  white  teeth  as  regular  as  if  they  had 
been  carved  by  machinery. 

He  was  what  Aunt  Elizabeth  called  "a  very  personable 
youth,"  was  this  well-bred  transatlantic,  not  very  tall — 
say  five  foot  nine — but  well  built,  well  groomed,  well 
dressed,  and  with  a  pair  of  keen,  gray-green  eyes,  and  a 

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MOONGLADE 

sleek  head  of  pleasingly  red-brown  hair.  Moreover,  being 
the  only  son  of  a  many-sided  father,  who  had  added 
greatly  to  a  vast  inherited  fortune  by  old-fashioned  and 
unexceptionable  means,  he  was  of  some  weight  in  the 
cosmopolitan  world  of  the  day,  amid  which  he  moved  at 
ease  and  with  a  delightful  buoyancy.  He  had  met  the 
Setons  at  Villefranche  a  couple  of  seasons  earlier,  and, 
extraordinary  to  record,  had  found  such  favor  in  Aunt 
Elizabeth's  eyes  that  an  invitation  to  shoot  at  Seton 
Park  had  followed.  It  was  there  that  he  had  met  and 
fallen  in  love  with  Laurence,  to  whom  he  had  proposed. 
That  young  lady,  dazzled  by  his  wealth,  his  prospects,  his 
father's  magnificent  steam-yacht — anchored  at  the  time 
in  the  Solent — and  perhaps  attracted  also  by  the  young 
man's  inexhaustible  good  temper  and  humorous  aplomb, 
had  been  on  the  point  of  accepting  him.  Her  infatuation 
for  Neville  Moray  had,  however,  stayed  her  on  the  brink 
of  a  very  desirable  union.  But  she  had,  nevertheless,  left 
him  sufficient  hope  for  the  future  to  make  the  announce- 
ment of  her  marriage  to  Basil  a  very  great  surprise  indeed. 
In  spite  of  this  he  did  not  seem  particularly  broken- 
hearted this  morning,  as  he  sat  in  the  full  light  of  the 
windows  smoking  one  of  Sir  Robert's  best  smuggled 
cigarettes.  Lady  Seton  had  retired  to  put  on  her  hat, 
and  the  two  men  were  alone. 

"Have  you  already  seen  my  niece?"  asked  Sir  Robert, 
who  (it  may  as  well  be  admitted  at  once)  could  never  face 
a  situation  of  any  awkwardness  without  immediately  feel- 
ing called  upon  to  put  both  his  large,  well-shaped  feet 
through  and  through  it. 

"Yes,  at  a  distance,"  Wynne  replied,  blowing  three 
successive  rings  of  blue  smoke  in  front  of  him,  and  with 
such  dexterity  that  they  interlocked  and  floated  away 
amiably  linked  to  one  another. 

"The  day  after  my  arrival  I  saw  her  driving  in  the 
Bois  wrapped  to  the  eyes  in  amazing  sables,  and  behind 
6  73 


MOONGLADE 

a  pair  of  Orloffs  that  made  my  mouth  water,  I  assure  you. 
Two  nights  later  I  glimpsed  her  at  the  opera  wearing  a 
diadem  and  triple  necklace  of  rubies  and  diamonds  fit  for 
an  empress.  But  in  neither  case  did  she  appear  to  recog- 
nize my  humble  personality." 

Sir  Robert  shook  his  head  gloomily.  "I  am  afraid," 
he  remarked,  "that  she  is  having  her  brain  turned  by  the 
adulation  with  which  she  is  surfeited.  Personally,  I  wish 
she  had  married  you  instead  of  Prince  Palitzin,  although 
I  am  bound  to  state  that  he  is  a  fine  man,  and  has  behaved 
toward  her  with  the  utmost  generosity." 

Preston  Wynne  half  rose,  put  his  hand  on  his  heart, 
and  bowed  with  gay  appreciation  of  the  compliment. 

"I  am,"  he  pronounced,  "flattered  indeed  that  you 
should  have  been  inclined  to  prefer  me  to  one  of  Europe's 
greatest  personages.  But,  frankly,  I  cannot  understand 
why  you  ever  did  such  a  thing." 

Sir  Robert  smiled.  He  possessed,  alas!  no  sense  of 
humor  whatsoever,  but  somehow  or  other  he  liked  what 
he  termed  the  quaint  ways  of  this  youthful  friend. 

"Laurence,"  he  proceeded  to  expound,  "is  a  curious 
girl.  Not  English  in  the  least.  Of  course  you  know  that 
we  are  one  of  those  Catholic  families  who  have  never 
given  up  the  'Old  Faith,'  but  that  has  nothing  to  do  with 
it.  Our  blood  is  British — just  so — and  where  that  child 
has  fished  her  very  peculiar  characteristics  from  is  more 
than  I  can  explain.  At  any  rate,  she  was  never  quite  one 
of  us — as  I  frequently  tell  her  aunt — a  regrettable  circum- 
stance. She  might  have  made  you  a  good  wife.  You  are 
a  sensible  chap,  you  see,  who  would  stand  no  nonsense, 
I'm  sure.  But  Prince  Basil  is  quite  another  affair.  He 
belongs  to  that  class  of  foreign  nobles  whom  we  cannot 
help  but  admire,  insular  though  we  may  be,  but  who 
should  decidedly  wed  their  own  women;  admirable 
creatures;  trained  to  suit  them  and  the  high  position 
they  occupy.  Between  you  and  me,  my  dear  fellow,  the 

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MOONGLADE 

feminine  portion  of  our  Anglo-Saxon  race  is  rapidly  be- 
coming too  emancipated,  too  free  and  easy,  too  assured  of 
what  they  are  pleased  to  call  their  rights — an  attitude, 
let  me  add,  which  will  gradually  lead  to  the  disclassing 
of  the  higher  orders.  It  has  already  begun  to  do  so", 
and  soon  the  British  great  lady  of  old  will  have  totally 
disappeared.  Indeed,  we  have  examples.  .  .  ." 

"Mais  ou  sont  les  neiges  d'antan!"  the  American 
quoted  to  himself,  continuing  to  follow  his  host's  argu- 
ments with  a  profound  and  most  flattering  solemnity 
of  aspect. 

"Examples,"  Sir  Robert  continued,  "which  have  shown 
us  that  blue  blood  no  longer  counts  for  much;  that,  in 
short,  coronets,  time-honored  and  valiantly  won  in  the 
glorious  past,  can  be  doffed  in  favor  of  the  red  cap  of 
revolution, — sported  on  the  tail  of  a  cart,  whence  their 
fair  wearers  shriek  themselves  hoarse  in  the  unwashed 
cause  of  Socialism." 

Mr.  Wynne,  still  listening  politely,  was  beginning  to 
wonder  where  Sir  Robert  was  heading. 

"Yes,"  he  put  in,  dubiously — "yes,  of  course  you  are 
entirely  right,  but  your  niece  is  scarcely  of  the  kind  you 
refer  to,  and  she  will  without  the  possibility  of  a  doubt 
grace  the  high  estate  in  which  she  now  finds  herself.  She 
very  naturally  preferred  becoming  a  Serene-Highness  to 
being  plain  Mrs.  Wynne  of  Nowhere  in  particular;  and 
who  can  blame  her?  She  was  born  to  the  purple;  one 
can  see  it  at  a  glance." 

Sir  Robert  rose,  walked  over  to  the  fire,  planted  him- 
self on  the  rug,  and,  with  both  hands  under  his  coat-tails, 
surveyed  the  speaker. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you  take  it  like  that!"  he  stated, 
thinking  within  himself  of  Neville  Moray's  visible  melan- 
choly when  he  had  met  him  at  a  levee  some  two  weeks 
after  Laurence's  wedding.  "There's  never  any  use,"  he 
resumed,  "in  crying  over  derailed  love-affairs,  and  this 

75 


MOONGLADE 

being  so,  I  wish  you'd  come  and  dine  with  us  here  to- 
night. You'll  meet  the  Palitzins  and  some  Breton  friends 
of  Laurence's,  the  Marquis  and  Mademoiselle  de  Plenhoel. 
They  are  near  relatives  of  Prince  Basil,  and  it  was  at  their 
chateau  in  Brittany  that  Laurence  first  met  her  husband." 

Wynne  rose  and  drew  on  his  left  glove  before  answer- 
ing. He  wanted  just  that  infinitesimal  space  of  time  to 
make  up  his  mind,  and  when  he  had  accomplished  this 
task  the  trick  was  done. 

"Thank  you  very  much,  Sir  Robert.  I'll  come  with 
pleasure  if  you'll  let  me,"  he  said,  smiling.  "Good 
morning,  Lady  Seton.  I'm  off!"  he  added  as,  turning,  he 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  her  fur-wrapped  figure. 
"Sir  Robert  has  been  good  enough  to  invite  me  for  to- 
night, and  so,  as  the  saying  is  over  here,  'Au  plaisir, 
madame,  de  vous  revoir* " 

He  was  gone,  and  in  all  the  majesty  of  her  matronly 
disapproval  Lady  Seton  bore  down  upon  her  husband. 

"I  am  amazed  at  you,  Robert,  really  amazed!  What 
could  induce  you  to  invite  that  poor  young  man  with 
Laurence  and  Basil?  I  trust  you  may  have  thought  of 
asking  Captain  Moray  to  be  here  also.  It  would  really 
insure  the  success  of  the  party!"  she  concluded,  sar- 
castically. 

Sir  Robert's  Olympian  brow  reddened — his  brow  always 
became  Olympian  the  moment  his  wife  appeared  upon 
the  scene. 

"You  are  wholly  correct,"  he  said,  stiffly,  "for  thatjs 
exactly  what  I  have  done!" 

Lady  Seton  raised  her  muff  toward  heaven — a  painted 
one,  with  a  Greek  key  pattern  and  cupids  disporting 
themselves  among  roses  in  merry  French  fashion — let  the 
muff  sink  to  the  level  of  her  somewhat  flat  waist,  and  sat 
abruptly  down  on  "Lady  Hamilton,"  who  awoke  with  a 
smothered  groan  of  surprise  and  pain. 

"My  Heaven!  What  have  I  done?"  shrieked  the  lady, 

76 


MOONGLADE 

getting  on  her  feet  again  with  surprising  agility.-  "Oh, 
my  poor,  poor  lovey!"  she  moaned,  hugging  the  fat, 
wheezing  little  dog  to  her  fur  bosom.  "Oh!  Oh!  Oh!" 

"Stop  that  nonsense,  Elizabeth!"  Sir  Robert,  more 
Olympian  than  ever,  reproved  her.  "You  couldn't  hurt 
the  brute  if  you  tried.  Why,  she's  like  a  feather  pillow- 
most  unsportsmanlike  to  overfeed  her  as  you  do.  And 
now  please  attend  to  me,"  he  continued,  austerely,  easing 
with  a  square-toed  finger  the  uncompromisingly  angular 
collar  around  his  neck.  "I  asked  Moray,  as  I  told  you, 
and  now  I've  asked  Wynne  to  dine — that's  an  accom- 
plished fact.  But  what  I  wish  to  impress  upon  you  is 
that,  Princess  or  no  Princess,  I  don't  propose  to  be  made 
to  feel  like  a  child  in  my  own  house."  He  cast  a  masterful 
look  at  the  topsy-turvy  cupids  gamboling  above  his  head, 
but  did  not  trouble  to  smile  at  the  idea  of  having  claimed 
them  and  the  attached  hostelry  as  his  own.  "  If  Laurence 
has  so  little  tact  and  monde  as  to  be  annoyed  because  she 
meets  her  old  flames  at  our  table,  let  her  be  annoyed;  I 
don't  care  a  fig  about  it.  So  that's  clear,  is  it  not?" 

He  set  his  foot  with  an  air  of  extreme  finality  upon 
the  hearth-rug,  volte-faced,  and  strode  to  the  door  to 
meet  his  hat,  coat,  and  cane  in  the  hands  of  the  rigid 
Berkley;  leaving  his  wife,  in  one  of  her  most  acid  moods, 
to  follow  behind. 

The  dinner-table  that  night  was  set  with  all  the  luxury 
that  money  can  suggest  to  French  taste,  and  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  realize  that  the  silver  and  crystal,  the  porcelain 
and  flowers,  had  not  been  preordained  and  arranged  by 
the  especial  orders  of  a  distinguished  hostess.  As  Sir 
Robert  said,  condescendingly,  "They  manage  these  things 
very  well  in  Paris."  Contrary  to  what  Lady  Seton  had 
anticipated,  a  cheerful  merriment  held  the  guests  from 
the  moment  they  sat  down,  and  soon  the  conversation — 
never  failing  in  genial  humor — actually  rose  to  the  higher 
level  of  wit.  This  was  due  chiefly  to  Basil  and  to  young 

77 


MOONGLADE 

Wynne,  who  seemed — much  to  Laurence's  annoyance  and 
surprise — to  hit  it  off  from  the  first.  Lady  Seton,  usually 
what  her  husband  described  as  a  "damper,"  became  as 
nearly  responsive  to  the  pleasing  atmosphere  of  the  occa- 
sion as  was  possible  for  her  to  be,  while  Sir  Robert,  to 
everybody's  astonishment,  plunged  headlong — after  the 
fish — into  excellent  yachting  anecdotes.  Tubbed  and 
razored,  and  shedding  cheerful  waves  of  bay-rum  and  hair 
tonic  about  him,  his  ample  shirt-front  embellished  by  two 
large  pearls  gleaming  like  moons  through  mist,  he  ex- 
panded more  and  more  as  the  well-conceived  menu  ful- 
filled its  alluring  promises,  and  cast  glances  of  roseate 
satisfaction  around  the  board.  "Elizabeth  is  a  fool!"  he 
commented,  inwardly.  "They're  all  enjoying  themselves 
like  periwinkles  at  high  tide. . . .  By  the  way,  she's  got  her- 
self up  to  his  Majesty's  taste,  has  Elizabeth.  She's  posi- 
tively scratched  five  years  off  her  age."  And  so  she  had. 
For  on  occasions  of  ceremony,  in  spite  of  her  Galliphobe 
tendencies,  Lady  Seton  knew  not  only  how  to  buy,  but 
how  to  wear  a  Parisian  gown  of  the  best  Place  Vendome 
make,  besides  which  her  neck  and  arms  were  still  more 
than  presentable,  and  her  jewels  magnificent.  Had  there 
possibly  lurked  in  her  mind  a  desire  to  eclipse  Laurence's 
bridal  splendors?  But  who  is  to  gauge  the  possibilities 
of  a  feminine  brain,  old  or  young?  At  any  rate,  to  quote 
Sir  Robert,  as  far  as  "get  up"  went,  she  was  easily  ahead 
of  her  niece  by  several  lengths;  for  the  faint  pink  of  the 
bride's  cre'pe-de-Chine,  looped  up  with  natural  Bengal 
roses,  was  of  Basil's  selection,  and  therefore  its  exquisite 
simplicity  paled  before  her  aunt's  gold-laminated  brocades 
and  zibline-bordered  train. 

Marguerite — who  never  cared  much  for  what  she  wore — 
was,  as  usual,  in  white,  something  soft  and  clinging,  with 
an  almost  imperceptible  current  of  pearl  and  silver  em- 
broidery frosting  its  graceful  folds;  on  the  left  shoulder  a 
cluster  of  her  namesake  flowers,  fastened  by  an  antique 

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MOONGLADE 

silver  Breton  heart-and-crown,  and  about  her  throat  on 
a  slender  silver  thread  a  silver  fleur-de-lys. 

So  "young  girlish" — si  delicieusement  jeune  fitte!  Basil 
had  thought,  as  he  had  glanced  furtively  at  her  on  her 
arrival.  Now  he  did  not  dare  to  let  his  eyes  wander 
in  her  direction,  remembering  the  scene  with  Laurence 
only  too  well.  Marguerite  was  placed  diagonally  oppo- 
site to  him — the  place  of  honor  was  occupied  by  the 
British  Ambassadress,  a  handsome  woman  of  fifty  or  so, 
whose  blond  bandeaux  retained  the  silky  brilliance  that 
had  caused  her  for  many  years  to  be  known  to  her  friends 
by  the  charming  nickname  of  "Rose  d'or," — and  above 
the  yellow  and  lilac  orchids  of  the  surtout'he  trusted 
himself  only  to  watch  the  "Gamin's"  strong  little  hands, 
playing  with  her  knife  and  fork  as  though  she  were  attend- 
ing a  school-room  dinette  instead  of  one  of  her  first  formal 
dinner-parties. 

Beside  her  sat  Neville  Moray,  a  trifle  too  silent  and  con- 
templative, but  still  smiling  amiably,  and  Preston  Wynne, 
from  his  place  by  the  Ambassadress,  caught  and  passed 
the  ball  of  gay  chatter  with  Basil  and  "Antinoiis,"  his 
next  neighbor.  Both  were  highly  amused  by  his  sallies 
as  he  related  to  them  a  recent  trip  to  Sonora,  where  the 
elder  Wynne  owned  a  beautiful  hacienda.  Mexican 
haut-faits  were  related  in  vividly  picturesque  language, 
dotted  now  and  again  with  Spanish  names  and  expletives 
of  a  gracious  canority,  while  when  the  narrator  dropped 
into  plain  United  States  his  discourse  became  variegated 
with  cowboy  vernacular  that  brought  tears  of  laughter 
to  all  eyes. 

"We're  a  queer  lot,  aren't  we?"  Wynne  was  saying. 
"A  regular  hodgepodge,  believe  me!  You've  got  to  sift 
the  sheep  from  the  goats  if  you  want  to  have  a  good  time, 
though  I  am  bound  to  say  that  the  sheep  are  not,  by  a 
long  shot,  the  most  amusing  of  the  two — except  when  they 
are  mountain-sheep  with  a  lot  of  kick  in  them!  As  to 

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MOONGLADE 

the  Dons,  they  are  not  half  bad,  keen  as  mustard,  plucky 
as  they  make  'em,  and  with  no  genuine  harm  in  them  if 
one  knows  how  to  handle  the  breed.  Give  me  a  revolut- 
ing  Mexican  first,  next,  and  always,  in  preference  to  some 
of  our  hand-raised  products,  made  in  Germany,  for  in- 
stance." 

"You  have  a  lot  of  Germans  out  there,  haven't  you? 
So  have  we  in  Russia,  alas!"  Basil  interposed  with  a  wry 
smile. 

"Yes,  Germans  are  Germans,"  Wynne  replied.  "We 
don't  cotton  to  'em  much,  but  when  fresh  off  the  farm 
they  are  all  right  enough  in  their  way.  It's  the  Germo- 
American  I  object  to.  He  who  is  either  born  in  America, 
or  imported  at  little  cost  and  so  tender  an  age  that  he 
mistakes  himself  for  one  of  us.  We  have  specimens  worth 
the  price  of  admission,  just  for  the  privilege  of  ogling  them. 
There's  one  peacherino  I  especially  admire — a  big  bug,  too, 
you  bet !  He  came  over  when  he  was  a  little  shaver,  and 
began  his  industrial  career  as  a  sausage-peddler  out  West. 
He  knew  a  thing  or  two,  though,  and  little  by  little  he 
came  to  own  a  butcher  shop,  then  two,  then  three — like 
the  boy  who  started  in  by  selling  sand  to  grocers  to  put 
in  the  sugar — and  ended  in  a  lake-shore  palace  and  the 
smartest  set.  Well,  this  ambitious  butcher  I'm  speaking 
of  finally  went  into  the  cattle  business — wholesale,  on  the 
hoof,  and  all  that,  you  know — until,  having  made  a  pile 
as  high  as  Chimborazo,  he  housed  his  family  in  marble 
halls  and  let  madame  and  her  young  uns  have  their 
fling.  Nothing  was  too  good  for  them — an  art-gallery 
filled  with  masterpieces,  a  music-room  where  the  most 
expensive  musicanders  were  heard.  Plush  liveries  pla- 
carded with  fine  gold  for  the  servants — we  don't  say  help 
any  more,  even  out  West;  we've  found  out  the  fallacy  of 
it — motor-cars  from  France,  a  steam-yacht  on  the  lake — 
they  refuse  themselves  nothing,  and  their  only  shame  is 
that  old  German  father  of  the  whole  shooting-match, 

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MOONGLADE 

who  has  not  risen  with  his  fortunes!  He  is  a  holy  show, 
it's  a  fact,  slouching  about  in  an  aged  overcoat  and  a 
shabby  soft  hat,  up  at  five  every  morning  and  sneaking 
out  of  his  castle  to  do  what?  Bet  you'd  never  guess! 
Why,  just  as  a  matter  of  habit  to  go  to  the  stock-yards 
and  with  his  own  hands  slaughter  a  hog.  It  has  become 
second  nature  to  him,  and  he  swears  it  gives  him  an 
appetite  for  breakfast." 

Sir  Robert,  who  had  been  neglecting  his  charming 
neighbors,  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"To  kill  a  hog!  To  kill  a  .  .  ."he  choked,  crimson  with 
appreciation.  "  Marble  halls,  hogs — help !"  he  gurgled  on. 
"You  are  a  queer  chap,  Wynne!  I  like  you!" 

"So  do  I,  Sir  Robert,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "I 
was  afraid  my  little  story  might  have  shocked  every- 
body." 

"Nonsense,"  the  Baronet  protested.  "Give  us  some 
more  of  your  experiences,  do !  You  take  life  as  it  should 
be  taken — on  its  jolly  side.  It's  the  right  way." 

Laurence's  hazel  eyes  fixed  themselves  reproachfully 
upon  her  uncle.  She  did  not  feel  inclined  to  praise  Pres- 
ton Wynne's  gaiety.  A  man  jilted  by  her  should  have 
displayed  a  fitter  regret  for  what  he  had  lost,  and,  seek- 
ing consolation,  she  turned  toward  Neville,  who,  at  least, 
knew  what  was  due  her  better  than  to  laugh  and  joke; 
but,  lo  and  behold,  this  distinguished  young  officer  was 
deep  in  conversation  with  Marguerite,  who  looked  exas- 
peratingly  pretty.  There  was  Basil,  too — her  own  wedded 
husband — talking  and  enjoying  himself  just  as  if  she  had 
never  made  him  a  scene  and  tried  to  make  him  squirm! 
Her  fingers  closed  brutally  upon  the  Sevres  handle  of  her 
fruit-knife.  Was  her  power  over  the  stronger  sex  on  the 
wane?  That  would  be  agreeable!  In  that  case  she  might 
as  well  go  and  bury  herself  in  the  snows  of  Tverna,  as  Basil 
had  hinted  that  very  morning  it  might  be  wise  for  them 
to  do.  He  had  patiently  explained  that  the  peasantry  on 

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MOONGLADE 

this  particular  estate  was  being  rendered  restless  by  agi- 
tators and  kab&k  orators.  Her  exasperating  reflections 
were,  however,  cut  short  by  the  signal  from  Lady  Seton, 
which  brought  everybody  to  their  feet.  Bowing  for  once 
to  Continental  etiquette,  she  had  picked  up  both  men  and 
women  with  her  eyes,  and  therefore  all  assembled  together 
in  the  adjoining  salon,  where  coffee,  liqueurs,  and  ciga- 
rettes awaited  them  before  a  brilliant  fire. 

Strangely  enough,  it  was  Basil  who  appeared  at  home 
beneath  Sir  Robert  and  Lady  Seton's  temporary  roof-tree, 
not  Laurence;  for,  disinteresting  herself  utterly  from  her 
relatives  and  their  guests,  she  withdrew  to  a  side-table 
and  began  to  turn  over  the  periodicals  and  papers  with 
which  it  was  littered;  her  air  and  expression  one  of  mourn- 
ful detachment,  as  if  she  had  long  since  discovered  that 
the  gilding  of  a  cake  may,  after  all,  mark  but  indigestible 
dough,  and  was  trying  to  resign  herself  to  this  unwhole- 
some diet  with  angelic  patience. 

Greatly  intrigued  by  this  strange  attitude,  "Antinous" 
approached  her. 

"You  seem  tired,  chere  madame.  Will  it  weary  you 
further  if  I  take  a  seat  here  and  converse  with  you?"  He 
was  speaking  with  well-feigned  sympathy. 

"Not  in  the  least,  Monsieur  de  Plenhoel,"  she  an- 
swered, drawing  her  skirts  aside  to  make  room  for  him 
on  the  foot  of  the  lounge  to  which  she  had  retreated.  She 
did  not  see  that  he  was  considering  her  out  of  the  corner 
of  an  extraordinarily  mocking  eye. 

"What  I  admire,"  he  was  thinking,  "are  the  transports 
of  joy  with  which  she  hails  the  reappearance  of  her  uncle 
and  aunt  upon  the  tapis."  'But  aloud  he  said,  gently, 
"You  remind  me  of  one  of  our  Brittany  wild  roses  to- 
night, madame." 

"Why  wild?"  she  questioned,  her  eyes  softening  at  the 
broad  hint  of  compliment.  "I  am  very  tame,  I  assure 
you." 

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MOONGLADE 

"Really!"  he  smiled.  "One  would  scarcely  connect 
you  with  tameness.  You  are  a  pronounced  personality, 
and  such  rarely  submit  to  dulling  influences." 

She  raised  her  pliant  figure  from  the  cushions  among 
which  she  had  been  nestling.  ' '  You  think  that  ?' '  she  mur- 
mured, well  pleased.  "I  was  afraid  I  was  beginning  to 
drift  with  the  tide." 

"A  tide  of  well-deserved  success!"  he  asserted,  his  blue 
glances  flooding  her  with  admiration.  "You  are  a  happy 
woman,  madame,  for  at  the  touch  of  your  wand  a  king- 
dom has  been  flung  at  your  little  feet." 

"A  kingdom!"  she  scoffed,  looking  at  him  between  her 
lashes.  "Scarcely  that!" 

"A  kingdom  of  infinite  love  and  tenderness!"  Regis  de 
Plenhoel  explained  in  a  suddenly  altered  tone. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed.     "Is  that  what  you  mean?" 

"It  is — or  rather,  it  was  a  minute  ago;  for  now  I  per- 
ceive that  our  modern  Titania  is  not  satisfied  with  such 
a  realm  alone.  Fortunately,  however,  yours  is  not  com- 
prised within  the  mere  compass  of  a  human  heart — golden 
though  it  be — and  I  feel  sure  that  you  will  wield  your 
scepter  in  right  royal  fashion." 

"You  like  hyperbole?"  she  retorted,  with  some  pique. 
"Or  has  your  kinsman  commissioned  you  to  plead  a  cause 
already  won?" 

"I  am  a  free-lance, madame, in  the  Field  of  the  Cloth  of 
Gold,  or  in  that  of  Clemence  Isaure,  at  your  service  or  your 
choice.  But,  seeing  you  lost  in  dreams,  I  ventured  to  come 
and  offer  my  belated  congratulations,  since  the  other  night 
you  were  so  surrounded  that  I  did  not  get  a  chance  to 
speak  to  you." 

"  I  accept  them  all  the  more  gratefully,  as  it  was  in  your 
house  that  my  good  luck  came  to  me,  Monsieur  le  Mar- 
quis!" 

"Don't  mention  it!"  retorted  Re"gis,  dropping  all  poe- 
try of  tone  as  if  he  had  suddenly  been  stung  by  a  bee. 

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MOONGLADE 

"Besides,  if  you  have  any  one  to  thank,  address  yourself 
to  the  'Gamin,'  your  eternal  and  loyal  champion." 

"I  was  not  aware  that  I  needed  one!"  was  the  spirited 
answer;  and  Laurence  let  her  swiftly  hardening  eye 
travel  to  the  piano,  at  which  Marguerite  had  just  seated 
herself.  Neville  and  Preston  Wynne  stood  on  either  side 
of  her,  imploring  her  to  sing,  and  she  was  smiling  up  at 
them. 

"Don't  let  yourself  be  implored!"  her  father  called 
across  to  her.  "You  are  not  yet  grown  up  enough  for 
that.  Let  us  have  'Pauvre  P'tit  Gas!'  mon  'Gam-in'!'1 

Obediently  Marguerite  pulled  off  her  long  white  gloves 
and  began  to  play  a  prelude  in  minor  that  seemed  a  lost 
echo  of  stormy  seas,  filled  now  with  the  voices  of  great 
waves  against  a  rock-bound  coast,  and  again  with  the 
sweep  of  the  wind  in  the  rigging  of  a  doomed  ship. 

Complete  and  absolute  silence  fell  upon  the  room  at 
the  first  notes  of  her  surprisingly  deep  contralto: 

"Nul  ne  conndt  jamais  son  age! 
Son  nom?    Ma  foi,  pas  davantagel 
Sa  famille?    II  n'en  avail  pas! 
On  I 'avail  trouve  sur  la  plage  .  .  . 
Pan-ore  P'tit  Gas!" 

Her  extraordinary  voice  gave  a  strange  pathos  to  the 
simple  little  song,  and  sent  a  shiver  between  Basil's 
shoulders.  Preston  and  Neville  had  fallen  back  and 
stood  motionless,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  listening  intently 
to  verse  after  verse  of  the  quaint  complaints: 

"Lorsque  la  mer  etail  mauvaise 
II  chantait,  le  cceur  plus  a  I'aise, 
Cite,  malgre  vents  et  frimas, 
Dans  un  abri  de  la  falaise  .  .  . 
Pauvre  P'tit  Gasl" 

Down  went  the  accompaniment  a  full  octave;  distant 
bells  seemed  to  mingle  with  the  score.  One  could  dis- 

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MOONGLADE 

cern  the  sobbing  of  the  sea  now,  the  pulsing  of  the  tide, 
rising,  rising,  till  with  a  swelling  rush  it  submerged  the 
reefs. 

"Or  un  soir  la  vague  en  furie.  .  .  .". 

Marguerite  had  long  since  forgotten  where  she  was. 
She  was  singing  as  she  had  so  often  done  on  the  cliffs  of 
Plenhoel,  and  her  Pauvre  P'tit  Gas  was  as  real  to  her  as 
he  had  seemed  then: 

"Malgre  les  brisants  et  I'orage 
II  attint  la  cote  a  la  nage 
Puis  il  mourut.  .  .  tant  etait  las!.  .  .  . 
Pauvre  P'tit  Gasl" 

Slower  and  slower  came  the  words: 

"//  fut  pleure  dans  les  tenebres.  .  .  . 
Pauvre  P'tit  Cast 
Pauvre  P'tit  Gasl" 

At  the  last  wailing  chords  she  seemed  to  awaken,  rose, 
and  faced  swiftly  round,  in  evident  surprise  to  see  them 
all  there,  but  utterly  unconscious  of  the  prodigious  effect 
created.  A  little  smile  played  hide-and-seek  beneath 
"Antinous's"  mustache;  he  had  heard  her  sing  that 
before;  but  the  rest  had  not,  and  the  spelt  seemed  un- 
broken for  a  full  minute  before  the  applause  began.  The 
girl,  startled  and  embarrassed,  looked  around  in  a  long 
glance  of  astonishment,  and  met  Basil's  eyes  fixed  upon 
hers  in  a  manner  she  had  never  seen  before;  but  when 
the  others  surrounded  her  with  enthusiastic  expressions 
of  delight  he  remained  where  he  had  stood  during  her 
singing,  and  did  not  speak. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  drag  upon  the  hand  and  brain, 
A  chain  of  gold  is  still  a  chain. 

A  HUGE  rack  of  cloud  was  driving  across  the  sky  at  a 
speed  that  frayed  out  long  rags  from  its  bellying  sails, 
and  trailed  them  heavily  along  the  tops  of  the  dark  pine 
forest.  The  earth,  but  recently  freed  from  the  weight 
of  the  snow-mantle  that  for  month  after  month  had  hid- 
den it  from  sight,  was  brown  and  oozy,  dotted  with  pools 
and  ponds  and  spontaneous  brooks  and  rivulets  engen- 
dered by  that  appalling  infliction,  a  Russian  spring 
break-up. 

Hard  to  bear,  even  in  Moscow  or  Petersburg,  this  mani- 
festation of  nature  becomes  in  the  open  country  an  actual 
calamity;  for  it  is  no  small  trial  to  wade  from  liquid  mud 
to  liquid  mud,  from  spongy  road  to  spongier  path,  while 
the  great  wind-storms  that  precede  and  follow  the  break- 
ing of  the  ice,  gurgle  and  howl  and  hoot  like  an  army  of 
drunken  banshees  beneath  the  arch  of  deluge  overhead. 

The  solemn  ceremonies  announcing  the  formal  ending 
of  winter  had  already  taken  place.  In  the  presence  of 
the  Czar,  his  Court,  and  his  hierarchy,  the  cannon  rending 
the  hard-glittering  surface  of  the  Neva  had  done  its  work, 
and,  therefore,  officially  speaking,  spring  was  born  to  the 
Muscovite  people.  But  how  dour  and  morose  was  this 
infant  season  that  particular  year,  shivering  and  cowering 
in  the  cold  rain!  Indeed,  it  had  not  as  yet  unfolded  its 
very  faintest  green  banner,  and  continued  to  sulk  away 

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MOONGLADE 

the  days  and  the  nights,  hiding  from  all  the  expectant 
eyes  so  impatiently  awaiting  its  advent. 

The  Province  of  Tvernovna  was  being  especially  ill- 
treated,  and  coarse  brutality  might  justly  have  been  laid 
at  the  door  of  the  storm-powers  responsible  for  its  evil 
case.  There,  rivers  that  had  usually  been  content  with 
flowing  like  slightly  ruffled  mill-ponds  when  once  de- 
barrassed  of  their  winter  coatings,  now  turned  themselves 
into  raging  torrents,  demolishing  their  banks  with,  so  to 
speak,  a  wrathful  heaving  of  the  shoulder,  and  spreading 
out  over  the  steppe  in  billowing  waves,  foam-slavered  and 
yellow,  sufficient  to  carry  a  house  off  its  feet  among  the 
debris  of  trees  and  bushes  that  seemed  but  a  smaller  edi- 
tion of  the  Sargasso  Sea. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  the  loosed  waters  had  for  days 
been  encroaching  on  the  outskirts  of  the  village  of  Tverna, 
and  already  stretched  broad  tongues  and  ribbons  of  wet- 
ness toward  the  base  of  the  slope  whereon  it  nestled  below 
the  Castle,  until  it  seemed  stranded  like  a  peninsula  in  a 
lagoon,  and  the  dark  soil  floated  up  by  the  unpleasing 
tide  spread  in  an  ever-increasing  stain  over  the  drowned 
turf. 

The  lanes  separating  the  isbas  into  a  very  unconventional 
imitation  of  blocks  were  well-nigh  impassable,  save  where 
logs  and  lengths  of  rough  board  had  been  precariously 
anchored  by  stones,  so  as  to  allow  the  inhabitants  at  least 
to  reach  the  kabak — or  drinking-shop — this  indispensable 
adjunct  of  any  human  habitation,  especially  in  the  North, 
wherever  that  North  may  befind  itself.  It  is  a  populous 
village,  numbering  twelve  hundred  "souls,"  as  is  plainly 
testified  in  orthodox  characters  by  a  painted  sign  at  the 
entrance  of  the  chief  thoroughfare.  Also  its  kahbk  is  of 
a  better  class  than  is  usually  found  in  such  villages,  for 
upon  its  once  whitewashed  walls  are  tacked  highly  in- 
flamed pictures  of  many  saints  and  sinners  (mostly  ob- 
tained from  wandering  peddlers),  and  the  short  curtains 

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MOONGLADE 

of  the  square  windows  are  of  heavy  red  material,  large 
enough  to  be  drawn  straight  across  the  double  glass  of  an 
evening,  when  "lights  out"  should  be  the  order  of  the 
hour.  Of  course  the  atmosphere  of  the  place  is  neither 
better  nor  worse  than  is  to  be  encountered  in  similar 
places  the  Empire  over.  An  unhappy  mixture  of  vddka, 
kwass,  red-cabbage  soup — wherein  clots  of  sour  milk  are 
wont  to  lurk — stale  tobacco,  and  the  odor  of  humanity 
clad  in  thick  woolens  and  greasy  sheepskins  gives  it  its 
unfragrant  character  during  the  day,  while  at  night  these 
amiable  factors  are  overtoned  by  the  smoking  kerosene- 
lamps  which  an  all-wise  Providence  has  been  powerless 
to  spare  to  the  mujiks  in  this  their  era  of  progress. 

Tverna  has  the  fortune  to  be  situated  in  one  of  Russia's 
most  prosperous  provinces.  Unlike  Samard,  Vintka,  and 
many  others,  it  does  not  belong  to  a  famine  government, 
also  the  cholera  is  seldom  heard  of  there,  but,  nevertheless, 
it  has  its  drawbacks;  for  as  it  is  of  great  agrarian  and 
political  importance,  it  is  visited  more  frequently  than 
is  wholesome  for  it  by  professional  agitators,  who,  daring 
the  might  of  Prince  Basil  Palitzin,  invade  its  purlieus  when- 
ever that  kindly  lord  ventures  to  absent  himself.  It  is 
well  known  that  when  the  "presence  flag"  waves  its  silken 
folds  above  the  Castle,  peace  and  quiet  abide  in  Tverna; 
but  the  minute  it  is  hauled  down  and  the  troika  bearing 
him  away  has  disappeared  from  view,  the  trouble-makers 
are  once  more  at  their  evil  work. 

All  day  it  had  been  raining  densely,  and  a  disheartening 
evening  was  setting  in,  with  no  prospect  whatsoever  of 
better  things  for  the  morrow.  In  the  kab&k  were  assem- 
bled the  more  important  members  of  the  village  council, 
the  starbstd — a  gigantic  man,  blond  as  ripe  corn,  pink- 
faced,  and  with  a  pair  of  prominent  eyes — so  beautifully 
blue  that  it  is  a  pity  to  have  to  call  them  stupid — and  a 
dozen  or  so  of  less  illustrious  persons,  content  with  sit- 
ting in  corners  and  listening  to  the  pow-wow. 

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MOONGLADE 

Seated  sidewise  on  the  massive  table  was  a  man  of  en- 
tirely different  breed  and  aspect.  To  begin  with,  he  wore 
an  ordinary  suit  of  mixed  goods,  such  as  any  other  inhabi- 
tants of  the  world  at  large  might  have  sported;  a  scarlet 
tie — stained  and  crumpled — showed  above  his  garish 
waistcoat,  and  a  watch-chain  of  extreme  thickness  and 
brassiness  dangled  across  his  lean  stomach.  Quick,  active, 
alert,  lamentably  unwashed  as  to  neck  and  hands,  he 
created  at  first  glance  the  impression  of  believing  himself 
to  be  somebody — a  belief  that  since  the  morning  two  or 
three  weeks  before,  when  he  had  been,  as  he  put  it, 
"marooned"  by  the  swollen  waters  of  the  Tvernovo,  he 
had  studiously  endeavored  to  popularize. 

In  spite  of  his  unrecherche  appearance  and  regrettable 
vulgarity  of  apparel,  he  had  money — not  in  great  quanti- 
ties, perhaps,  but  much  more  than  the  few  kopeks  the 
others  there  could  afford  to  carry  abroad  with  them. 

During  his  "enforced"  sojourn  he  had  constantly  posed 
for  the  well-informed  person  who  has  traveled  much,  who 
reads  the  "leaves"  (newspapers),  and  he  had  always  in 
his  pocket  some  disgustingly  thumbed  brochure  of  an 
eminently  provocative  nature,  embellished  with  prints 
which  should  never  have  seen  the  light  of  day — or  night, 
either,  for  the  matter  of  that — but  which  he  displayed  with 
much  pride  on  every  possible  occasion.  So  far,  it  may  as 
well  be  admitted,  he  had  not  shown  himself  aggressive, 
nor  had  he  given  any  one  the  right  to  consider  him  a 
revolutionary  agent,  but  mayhap  he  was  only  a  little 
cleverer  than  those  who  had  preceded  him,  or  he  was 
merely  biding  a  favorable  moment  for  a  declaration  of 
principles.  Be  this  as  it  might,  to-night  he  seemed  more 
loquacious  than  heretofore,  and  began  to  engage  the 
starbstd  in  an  animated  conversation — the  animation  be- 
ing, of  course,  all  on  his  side,  for  the  other  was  a  man  of 
a  really  bovine  stolidity. 

"What  '11  you  do  if  the  water  rises  any  higher?"  the 
7  89 


MOONGLADE 

visitor  demanded  of  that  worthy.  His  accent  was  not 
pure,  and  belonged  to  no  district  of  Russia.  Indeed,  it  had 
a  vague  Teuton  flavor,  too  slight,  however,  to  be  noticed 
by  his  illiterate  audience;  also  his  sentences  did  not  con- 
form precisely  to  the  idiom  of  a  native-born  Muscovite. 

"Do?"  The  starbstd  removed  his  pipe  from  between 
his  thick  lips,  cast  a  speculative  glance  at  the  dingy  ceil- 
ing, and  brought  it  slowly  down  again  to  the  level  of  his 
interlocutor.  "Why,  we  have  already  advised  the  tchinov- 
nik.  What  more  can  we  do?  It  is  his  affair  to  help 
us  when  we're  in  trouble."  He  replaced  his  pipe  in  its 
natural  receptacle,  pushed  back  his  fur  cap,  and  fell  silent 
again,  as  though  the  point  was  settled  once  and  for  all. 

"The  tchinbvnik!"  mocked  the  other.  "Can  he  make 
the  river  go  back  to  bed  ?  And  what  about  your  tyrant  ? 
Why  don't  you  advise  him  of  the  muddle  you're  in  here? 
Perhaps  he'd  be  cleverer  at  that  game  than  the  tchinbvnik, 
and  it's  his  duty  to  protect  you  from  harm,  anyhow,  isn't 
it?" 

"The  Prince?"  put  in  an  elder  who  was  lounging  by 
the  stove  and  now  raised  himself  on  one  elbow.  He 
looked  the  patriarch  to  the  life,  with  his  long  white  beard, 
and  snowy  locks  falling  benignantly  around  his  finely 
wrinkled  face.  His  eyes  were  still  singularly  bright  under 
their  shaggy  eyebrows.  "The  Prince  is  far  away,  and 
does  not  know  what  occurs  here." 

"He  should  know!"  asserted  the  man  who  had  given 
his  name  as  Gregor  Lukitch.  "What's  the  use  of  a 
tyrant  if  he's  not  here  when  for  once  in  a  way  he  should 
be— tell  me  that?  Eh?" 

The  elder  pondered  for  a  moment  before  answering  this 
curious  question. 

"Well,"  he  said  at  last,  "the  Prince  is  good  to  us.  We 
have  no  cause  for  complaint.  His  father  was  the  same 
before  him.  All  of  them  were  always  fine  Barines.  There 
are  not  many  like  them." 

90 


MOONGLADE 

Gregor  Lukitch  sneered.  "Oh,  you  ancients!"  he  pro- 
nounced. "To  listen  to  you  one  would  think  you  had 
never  been  serfs,  slaves,  wretched  creatures  crushed  by 
oppressors,  victims  of  a  tyrannical  system  that  rested  like 
a  curse  upon  you,  and  still  bears  its  bitter  fruits.  Good 
Barines  say  you?  Ach!  You  make  me  sick." 

This  lofty  flight  of  words  was  rather  lost  upon  the  au- 
dience, but  a  few  vague  murmurs  of  approbation  were 
heard  to  proceed  from  the  corner  where  the  younger  men 
had  congregated  to  smoke  vile  cigarettes — like  kerosene- 
lamps,  cigarettes  are  modern  "luxuries"  among  the  Rus- 
sian peoples.  Indeed,  to  indulge  in  "paper  pipes" — as 
they  are  called — is  looked  upon  as  a  sign  of  independence 
and  enlightenment.  Unfortunately  those  obtainable  there 
by  the  masses  are  beyond  all  description  offensive,  and 
even  the  speaker's  nostrils,  accustomed  as  they  were  to 
the  terrible  savor  of  public  gatherings,  began  to  quiver 
queerly. 

"Gott  verdamm!"  he  swore  in  a  most  un-Russian  way, 
but  happily  quite  under  his  breath.  "Why  do  you  little 
fathers  persist  in  rotting  the  atmosphere  with  your  beastly 
cigarettes?  Here,  have  some  decentish  cigars.  At  any 
rate,  they'll  not  poison  us!"  Which  was  not  strictly  true, 
since  the  packet  of  "  Perfectos  "  he  pulled  from  a  capacious 
pocket  were,  to  say  the  best  one  could  for  them,  rolled 
from  nicotine-soaked  cabbage-leaf,  and  dangerous-looking 
at  that.  The  mujik  is  not  particular,  however,  and  cigars 
are  to  him  the  absolute  complement  of  wealth  and  lux- 
ury; so  with  immense  gratitude  were  the  "delicacies" 
accepted  and  retained,  excepting  by  the  starostd  and  the 
elder,  who  knew  better  than  to  be  tempted. 

"If  I  were  you,"  the  irrepressible  Gregor  now  went 
on,  "  I  would  speedily  put  myself  in  a  position  to  live  on 
the  fat  of  the  land,  eat  my  fill,  drink  something  better 
than  government  vddka,  and  enjoy  life  while  I've  got  it 
to  enjoy." 


MOONGLADE 

"What's  the  matter  with  government  vodka?"  asked  a 
tall,  upstanding  chap,  blond  and  blue  and  pink  as  the 
stardstd  was,  but  with  less  of  that  worthy  person's  dull- 
ness. "It's  strong  and  cheap,  isn't  it?  Much  cheaper 
than  when  we  had  to  buy  it  from  the  Jew  innkeepers." 

Gregor  brought  his  shoulders  to  a  level  with  the  top 
of  his  small,  flat,  lobeless  ears. 

"You  make  me  sweat!"  he  said,  with  ineffable  con- 
tempt. "You'd  be  satisfied  with  anything,  as  long  as 
you  can  burn  your  foolish  throats  with  strong  alcohol. 
Why,  I  tell  you" — and  here  he  beat  one  dirty  fist  into  a 
grimier  palm,  the  better  to  emphasize  his  point — "the 
government  is  getting  millions  out  of  you,  jackasses 
that  you  are;  and  what  do  you  get  in  return?  Why, 
stuff  not  fit  to  wash  horses' feet  with.  Cheap!  No!  A 
thousand  times  no,  not  at  the  price  your  guts  pay  for  it. 
Then,  also,  it  stupefies  your  brains  that,  by  G — ,  don't  need 
it  I  And  that's  just  what  the  government  wants — to  make 
you  more  imbecile  than  you  already  are.  When  you  had 
to  sell  your  harvests  before  they  were  out  of  the  ground, 
in  order  to  buy  enough  to  get  drunk  as  often  as  you  could, 
sometimes  you  stopped  to  think.  Now,  with  your  nasty 
little  cheap  bottlefuls  of  'destroyer'  that  you  stow  in  all 
your  pockets,  and  guzzle  from  morning  till  night,  it's 
much  worse.  You're  never  sober.  Oh,  you  can  look  at 
me!  I  don't  care.  I'm  speaking  the  truth.  And  who 
have  you  to  thank  for  all  this?  Why,  your  'good  Barines,' 
of  course,  your  high  lords  who  make  the  laws  and  keep 
you  idiots  under  their  thumbs.  Government  monopoly! 
Yah!  Perhaps  you  were  thinking  that  was  all  arranged 
for  your  benefit.  But  you  are  sheep,  nothing  else  but 
sheep,  grazing  where  you  chance  to  be  put,  whether  the 
grass  is  long  or  short,  dry  or  juicy,  never  once  dreaming 
of  seeking  new  pastures  to  fill  your  bellies  full." 

He  paused,  expelled  a  generous  cloud  of  smoke  from 
his  well-trained  lungs,  and  glanced  triumphantly  about 

92 


MOONGLADE 

him.  The  listeners  were  becoming  interested,  as  was 
testified  by  varied  and  guttural  grunts.  The"  starbsta 
alone  did  not  seem  to  relish  the  joke. 

"You  might  talk  more  politely  of  my  vbdka,  you  there!" 
he  commented,  raising  his  ponderous  bulk  from  the  bench 
near  the  stove.  "I  don't  get  it  for  nothing,  if  I  do  sell 
it  cheap!  The  government  doesn't  make  me  a  present 
of  it,  does  it?" 

The  man  opened  his  displeasing  mouth  wide,  and 
laughed  from  the  tonsils  forward,  his  small,  red-rimmed 
eyes  disappearing  almost  completely  in  his  bilious,  moon- 
shaped  face. 

"Ah,  well!"  he  chuckled.  "You'll  always  be  the 
same  shiftless  good-for-naughts.  I've  told  you  so  before, 
little  fathers.  I  say  so  again!"  He  went  on  licking  his 
cigar  to  reattach  a  ragged  edge  of  pseudo-tobacco.  "See, 
you!  Your  tyrant  married  a  little  while  ago.  Did  he 
perhaps  wed  a  dame  of  his  own  rank,  even  of  his  people — 
of  ours,  I  mean?"  he  hastily  corrected.  "No,  he's  taken 
a  wife  from  among  strangers,  from  an  island  you  don't 
know  anything  about,  nor  even  where  it  is ;  but  I  do.  It's 
called  England,  and  they  are  all  merchants  there,  and — 
as  you're  so  devout — you  might  just  as  well  know  that 
they  have  another  God  than  we  in  Holy  Russia.  Their 
priests  are  no  priests  at  all;  they  dress  like  you  and  me — 
that  is,"  he  interpolated,  "like  me,  for  they,  of  course, 
don't  wear  your  touloupe  or  your  kqftdn!"  He  granted 
an  approving  tap  to  his  eminently  reproachable  trousers 
and  coat,  which,  according  to  him,  were  models  of  Angli- 
can fashion,  and  once  more  glanced  about  him. 

"Not  of  our  religion!"  chorused  the  audience.  "Do 
you  say  that  her  new  Highness  is  not  of  our  religion?" 

Gregor  saw  that  he  had  scored  a  point,  and  gave  in- 
stant attention  to  driving  it  home. 

"They  made  her  take  some  vows,  of  course,"  he  ex- 
plained, unsatisfactorily.  "I've  read  something  of  the 

93 


MOONGLADE 

kind  in  the  news-sheets,  but  can  you  make  a  black  heifer 
white  by  mumbling  words  over  her?  Can  you  change  one 
from  the  south  into  one  of  us  northerners?  You  can't, 
eh?  Well,  neither  can  the  Archimandrite  change  a  for- 
eign woman  into  a  Russian  lady  fit  to  rule  you  as  you 
seem  to  like  being  ruled." 

Marzof,  the  elder,  rose  to  his  full  height.  "You're 
talking  great  foolishness,  my  son,"  he  calmly  stated. 
"Why  do  you  come  and  speak  against  strangers  to  us, 
who  have  known  the  grandmother  of  our  Prince?  She 
came  from  foreign  parts,  too,  and  she  was  an  angel  straight 
out  of  heaven,  I'll  swear  it.  We  gave  her  a  name  here, 
for  we  couldn't  say  right  the  one  she  bore;  that  was  too 
difficult  for  our  stiff  tongues,  and  the  name  we  gave  her 
was  'Raissa'  (the  Heaven-sent).  We  were  serfs  then  still 
— slaves,  as  you  say — but  she  cared  for  us  as  if  we'd  been 
her  own  children.  When  the  great  sickness  [cholera] 
came,  she  went  from  house  to  house,  never  afraid,  helping 
us,  feeding  us,  touching  us  with  her  tiny  white  hands." 
The  old  man  lifted  his  fur  cap  and  reverently  went  on. 
"May  God  keep  fresh  the  memory  of  Princess  Raissa, 
the  blessed  grandmother  of  our  present  Prince,  and  the 
mother  of  our  late  master,  who,  too,  was  kind  to  his  peo- 
ple, and  may  He  rest  their  souls  in  His  Paradise !"  He  sat 
heavily  down  again,  and  Gregor  Lukitch  slipped  from  the 
table  to  the  sanded  floor. 

"I  abandon  you — I  leave  you  to  your  fate!"  he  clam- 
ored, spreading  wide  his  arms,  as  one  who  lets  drop  a 
burden  too  heavy  for  his  strength.  "I  leave  you,  I  say, 
to  your  ignorance  and  your  sloth.  You  will  not  see  the 
truth  when  it's  shown  to  you  clear  as  day.  What  more 
can  I  do!" 

"You  can  speak  less,  in  any  case!"  came  witheringly 
from  the  corner  near  the  stove,  and  a  burst  of  laughter 
greeted  old  Marzof 's  repartee.  Plainly  these  people — save 
half  a  dozen  hotheads  or  so  who  always  drank  in  every 

94 


MOONGLADE 

word  Gregor  pronounced — were  not  ready  yet  to  swallow 
his  preachings  whole;  but  he  was  no  fool,  and  knew  well 
that  at  a  given  moment  in  Russia  a  mere  handful  of  powder 
will  set  a  province  on  fire.  Where,  therefore,  was  the  use 
of  flurry  or  haste?  And  as  by  now  his  own  throat  was 
dust-dry,  he  helped  himself  to  a  few  deep  swigs  of  that 
vodka  he  had  so  harshly  condemned — and  looked  the 
better  for  it. 

Tverna  was,  in  its  way,  not  a  bad  village,  where  it  lay 
spread  out  like  a  handful  of  grain  carelessly  scattered  at 
the  foot  of  the  great  Castle.  There  were  not  many  rowdies 
there — not  at  least  considering  its  comparatively  large 
population.  A  few  lazy,  leisure-loving  individuals,  over- 
fond  of  drink  and  carousing,  who,  if  improperly  led,  might 
give  trouble,  but  that  was  all  so  far. 

Indeed,  here,  more  than  on  any  other  of  Basil's  estates, 
Laurence  would  find  her  opportunity  for  good,  if  she 
wished  to  take  it.  As  has  just  been  seen,  her  husband's 
grandmother  had  been  literally  worshiped  at  Tverna 
(her  favorite  abode),  and  well-beloved  wherever  her  lord's 
dominions  extended;  although  she  had,  like  Laurence, 
never  set  her  foot  on  Russian  soil  before  her  marriage. 
She  had  learned  the  prickly  language  of  her  adopted 
country  with  an  ease  perhaps  due  to  the  difficulty  of  her 
own  native  Breton,  and  had  adapted  herself  so  rapidly 
to  the  customs  and  modes  of  the  land  she  had  learned 
to  love  that  the  remembrance  of  her  was  living,  and  very 
vividly  so,  where  once  she  had  reigned  as  a  beneficent 
queen. 

At  the  beginning  of  their  wedded  life  Basil  had  been 
convinced  that  Laurence,  too,  would  become  the  adored 
of  his  people.  Her  beauty,  her  grace,  were  factors  in  this 
task  that  no  Slav — those  passionate  admirers  of  pretty 
women — would  overlook.  She  would  be  pleased  by  their 
reverence,  he  had  decided,  pleased  and  flattered  by  their 
natural  and  instinctive  deference  of  attitude;  and  when- 

95 


MOONGLADE 

ever  he  had  thought  thus  of  the  future — which  was  often 
— he  had  represented  her  to  himself  riding  by  his  side  on 
.  the  forest  roads  or  wrapped  in  the  furs  of  her  sleigh  gliding 
over  the  snowy  plains,  or  driving  across  the  steppe  in  the 
golden  days  of  summer  on  errands  of  kindness  and  mercy; 
for  if  Basil  had  a  serious  fault,  it  was  to  idealize,  almost  to 
the  point  of  rendering  it  unrecognizable,  every  object  of 
his  love  or  affection. 

That  Laurence  had  not  married  him,  as  she  so  unsweetly 
expressed  it,  to  go  and  "bury  herself"  in  Russia,  had 
never  for  a  second  entered  his  brain  in  those  days.  She 
had  taken  him  for  better  or  for  worse — and  certainly  in  his 
mind  the  latter  clause  could  not  be  considered  to  mean  the 
delightful  accomplishment  of  simple  duties  under  the  most 
fortunate  and  agreeable  of  circumstances.  She  was  a  Rus- 
sian Princess  now,  full-fledged  and  accredited — not  one  of 
the  many  make-believes  who  adopt  the  title  as  they  would 
a  new  fashion  as  soon  as  they  are  out  of  the  Muscovite 
dominions,  because  in  the  rest  of  Europe  Russian  Princes 
are  the  mode,  and  mere  Counts  and  Countesses  quite  out 
of  it,  as  it  were.  It  followed,  therefore,  that  she  would 
behave  in  accordance  with  her  rank — "with  her  heart,"  he 
had  mentally  added;  and  so,  even  when  some  doubts  had 
obtruded  themselves  upon  him,  when  the  Paris  winter 
season  began  to  draw  to  a  close  he  did  not  hesitate  to  make 
all  preparations  for  a  long  sojourn  at  Tverna. 

Laurence  did  not  openly  oppose  this  plan.  She  in- 
timated once  or  twice,  it  is  true,  that  she  would  prefer 
to  spend  the  spring  in  Paris — in  fact,  to  remain  there  until 
the  Grand  Prix;  but  as  yet  not  rough-shod  enough  to 
adventure  herself  on  what  she  saw  would  be  slippery 
ground,  she  ended  by  consenting  to  a  speedy  departure, 
albeit  with  no  very  good  grace. 

One  thing  only  pleased  her  in  this  complete  separation 
from  her  present  haunts,  and  that  was  the  impossibility 
it  would  bring  about  of  any  further  intimacy  with  the 

96 


MOONGLADE 

Plenhoels.  During  the  past  few  months  she  hacj  actually 
succeeded  in  persuading  herself  that  she  really  had  reasons 
to  be  jealous  of  the  "Gamin" — and  jealous  she  had  in- 
deed become,  but  it  was  not  on  Basil's  account.  There 
had  been  several  encounters  between  her  and  her  hus- 
band on  the  subject.  Not  very  acrimonious  ones,  ~nor 
very  violent,  but  yet  quite  sufficiently  unpleasant  to 
make  him  dread  meeting  his  relatives  when  Laurence  was 
present,  for  her  very  real  hatred  of  Marguerite  made  her 
seize  any  occasion  to  vituperate  against  her.  When  alone 
Basil  rarely  accorded  himself  the  joy  of  visiting  at  the 
H6tel  de  Plenhoel,  for  this  joy  was  beginning  to  appear 
to  him  a  dangerous  one.  Indeed,  he  had  by  this  curious 
course  of  conduct  ended  by  arousing  a  sort  of  pained  sur- 
prise in  Marguerite,  and  a  great  deal  of  speculative  as- 
tonishment in  "Antinous,"  who  was  gradually  but  surely 
becoming  hurt  and  angry  at  his  kinsman's  altered  be- 
havior and  apparent  coldness. 

"Cette  pie-grtiche  le  rend  assomant!"  he  pondered,  which 
maybe  approximately  Englished  as  "That  sour-minded 
magpie  is  transforming  him  into  a  regular  bore" — and 
wouldn't  Laurence  have  loved  "Antinous"  for  this  inter- 
pretation of  her  influence  over  his  favorite  cousin!  but, 
ignorant  of  the  curious  inside  workings  of  this  family 
dissension,  she  rejoiced  at  her  cleverness  in  estranging 
them  from  one  another,  little  guessing  what  it  would  re- 
sult in  ultimately.  "Leave  well  enough  alone"  is  a  sen- 
tence she  might  have  called  to  mind  with  infinite  profit 
to  herself,  but,  unfortunately,  her  narrow,  plotting  little 
brain  had  no  room  for  that  thought  for  the  morrow  which 
often  results  so  conveniently  in  the  fruition  of  time. 


CHAPTER  IX 

The  door  was  shut,  and  cobwebbed  too. 
Across  the  dusty  panels  grew 

Thick  tendrils  of  Regret  and  Pain, 
When  Love  unbarred,  and  glancing  through, 
Smiled  sadly  once,  then  closed  it  to, 

And  footfalls  died  away  again. 

IT  was  a  wonderful  morning,  all  aglow  with  sunbeams 
as  yet  unchequered  by  shadows,  for  the  trees  of  the  Bois 
and  the  Champs-filysees  were  but  just  beginning  to  star 
their  naked  branches  with  gauze-like  shreds  of  tiniest  leaf. 
Even  the  famous  "  Marronier-du-vingt-Mars  "  had  scarcely 
disenveloped  its  fan-shaped  foliage,  and  its  burgeons  for  the 
most  part  still  glistened  in  their  smart  brown  rubber  corse- 
lets. The  sky  was  blue  as  forget-me-nots,  and  some  ven- 
turesome white  butterflies  flitted  by  on  gossamer  wings  as 
Basil  turned  his  horses'  noses  toward  the  left  bank  of  the 
Seine,  after  some  hours  spent  in  the  Bois  de  Vincennes, 
alone,  as  it  were,  with  awakening  Nature. 

"I  shall  go  and  see  how  they  are,"  he  mused,  flick- 
ing a  disgracefully  inexperienced  baby  fly  from  his  off 
leader's  ear  with  the  end  of  his  long  four-in-hand  whip. 
' '  Surely  there  can  be  no  harm  in  that,  I  trust !' '  He  smiled 
a  little  bitterly,  and,  gathering  the  ribbons  more  firmly 
into  his  hands,  slowed  down  to  take  a  difficult  turning 
with  his  customary  skill. 

The  river  glittered  bravely  as  he  crossed  the  bridge, 
clothing  itself  all  over  with  steel  and  silver  when  a  fleecy 

98 


MOONGLADE 

little  flock  of  cloudlets  that  had  followed  him  from  the 
"Arc-de-Triomphe"  interposed  their  diaphanousness  be- 
tween him  and  the  sun;  but  as  soon  as  they  had  sailed 
on  resuming  its  gallant  armor  of  golden  scales  again;  and 
when  at  last  he  reached  the  Noble  Faubourg  he  found 
that  the  clouds  had  let  themselves  be  distanced  and  that 
Spring  reigned  supreme. 

Topping  the  garden  walls  of  the  H6tel  de  Plenhoel  the 
dainty  trails  of  centenarian  ivies  were  overtoned  by  the 
first  shoots  of  snugly  protected  climbing  rose-vines,  that 
formed  a  triumphant  garland  of  crimson-tipped  green 
along  the  ancient  granite  coping. 

With  a  curious  beating  of  the  heart  Basil  drove  into 
the  stone -paved  courtyard  and  stopped  his  beautiful 
team  of  bays  at  the  foot  of  the  steps. 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Marquis  and  mademoiselle  were 
within,"  the  Suisse  admitted,  with  as  near  an  approach 
to  a  welcoming  smile  as  his  dignified  functions  would 
allow  (for  Basil  was  cherished  by  inferiors,  whether  they 
belonged  to  his  household  or  to  those  of  other  people), 
and  with  no  decorum  at  all  he  ran  into  the  hall,  smiling 
gaily  at  that  splendid  official. 

"How  do  you  do?"  he  was  calling  a  second  later  from 
the  foot  of  the  great  stairs,  where  he  stood  beside  the 
servant  who  had  taken  his  coat.  Holding  lightly  to  the 
banisters,  Marguerite  was  coming  down  almost  at  a  run, 
and  there  was  a  freshness,  a  delicacy,  a  something  pure 
and  untouched  about  her,  that  made  his  heart,  his  very 
soul,  warm  with  infinite  tenderness.  Contrary  to  her 
habit,  she  was  not  in  white,  but  wore  a  linen  frock  of 
clear  azure,  and  on  her  bright  hair  a  floppy  garden-hat 
woven  of  pliant  straw,  around  which  a  wide  loose-knotted 
bku-de-ciel  ribbon  made  her  eyes  bluer  yet  by  sympathy. 

"How  are  you,  you  rarity!"  she  cried,  taking  the  two 
last  steps  at  a  bound  and  stretching  out  both  hands  to 
him. 

99 


MOONGLADE 

The  footman  had  disappeared,  and,  still  holding  his 
hands  playfully,  she  drew  him  into  a  little  salon  opening 
straight  from  the  hall. 

"Sit  down,  monseigneur!"  she  laughed,  pointing  to  an 
arm-chair  beside  the  sofa,  on  the  edge  of  which  she  settled 
herself  like  a  bird,  her  fingers  interlaced,  her  delicious 
head  cocked  on  one  side,  sparrow-wise. 

On  a  tabouret  near  by,  and  also  between  the  two  win- 
dows giving  on  the  garden,  stood  big  "buckets"  of  blue 
Sevres,  filled  with  blue  hortensias — the  exact  blue  of  that 
negligently  tied  ribbon  that  seemed  somehow  to  fasci- 
nate him.  A  ray  of  mote-laden  sunshine  gilded  the  Ma- 
zarine carpet  about  her  tiny  feet  incased  in  silver-buckled 
white  suede,  and  he  smiled  appreciatively. 

"New  shoes?"  he  queried,  glancing  down  at  them. 

"Yes — isn't  that  strange?"  she  smiled.  "Old  ones 
would  scarcely  suit  this  glorious  weather.  But  how  nice 
of  you  to  come.  ...  It  has  been  an  age  ..." 

Her  lips  were  smiling,  but  her  eyes  had  an  unusual 
under-depth  of  seriousness,  and  he  came  to  earth  rather 
flatly. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  brusquely,  resuming  the  queer  stiffness 
of  attitude  that  had  so  deeply  puzzled  her  when  he  had 
first  adopted  it.  "It  is  quite  a  while  since  I  came." 
And  for  the  second  time  he  said,  "How  are  you?" 

"So-so,"  she  answered,  all  liveliness  of  tone  and  ges- 
ture momentarily  eclipsed.  "One  is  always  so-so,  is  one 
not,  in  this  good  old  Paris?" 

"You  should  be  far  better  than  so-so,  even  here,"  he 
stated,  with  astonishing  severity,  "you,  whom  the  gods 
have  showered  with  all  blessings." 

"Have  a  cigarette!"  she  shrugged,  pushing  from  be- 
neath the  hortensias  a  silver  box  and  match-stand. 

"No,  thanks.  I  don't  care  to  smoke  here.  Your 
father  says  it  oxidizes  the  ermines." 

"Papa?  Nonsense!  He  never  dreamt  of  caring  for 

100 


MOONGLADE 

the  ermines'  health.  Besides,  they  are  old  enough  to 
look  after  themselves.  They  are  pretty,  though!"  she 
added,  pointing  to  the  heraldic  ermines  of  Brittany  em- 
broidered in  silver  relief  all  over  the  pale  satin  of  walls 
and  hangings.  "Pretty  and  antique,"  she  concluded, 
meditatively. 

"Like  most  of  your  ideas,"  he  stated,  leaning  back 
and  contemplating  the  intenseness  of  the  hortensias. 

She  glanced  at  him  between  half-closed  lashes,  an  im- 
perceptible frown  wrinkling  her  eyebrows. 

"You  find  me  too  old-fashioned?"  she  questioned, 
drumming  softly  on  the  lid  of  the  cigarette-box  with  the 
fingers  of  her  left  hand. 

"N-no — yes.  I  don't  know;  and,  moreover,  it's  none 
of  my  business." 

"None  of  your — business?"  She  stared.  "None  of 
your — "  Her  fingers  abruptly  ceased  drumming,  and  she 
turned  toward  him  a  face  of  real  bewilderment.  "Aren't 
we  friends — relatives?" 

He  stirred  uneasily,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  carpet,  as  if 
desirous  of  counting  the  convolutions  of  its  intricate 
pattern. 

"Friends?  Why,  certainly  friends!  Of  course  ...  we 
are  friends!  But  what's  that  got  to  do  with  it?  You 
have  other  friends,  and  so — so  have  I,  of  course." 

Marguerite's  little  ears  were  getting  pink.  What  ailed 
the  man,  anyhow?  Quick-tempered  as  she  was  soft- 
hearted, she  felt  oddly  angry  all  at  once. 

"Other  friends!"  she  exclaimed.  "Friends  like  me? 
You  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  have  lots  of  friends  like 
me?" 

"Well,"  Basil  murmured,  lamely,  "not  precisely  like 
you.  Nobody's  quite  like  you,  but,  nevertheless  ..." 

"But— nothing  at  all!"  she  cried,  truculently.  "What 
has  come  over  you  lately,  Basil  Palitzin?  You  did  not 
use  to  pose  and  posture  in  the  old  days.  You  were  such 

101 


MOONGLADE 

a  good  comrade,  such  a  trump.  Tell  me,  what — is — the — 
matter — with — you? ' ' 

Again  Basil  twisted  as  if  on  pins  and  needles,  twice 
he  clasped  and  unclasped  his  hands,  and  the  string  of 
derogatory  epithets  he  inwardly  applied  to  himself  would 
have  made  a  trooper  blush. 

"You  women  are  incredible,"  he  attempted  to  explain. 
"Young,  old,  or  very  young,  you  are  all  the  same  with 
your  extraordinary  imaginings.  What  should  be  the  mat- 
ter with  me,  pray?  Do  you  notice  any  signs  of  incipient 
decrepitude?" 

"I  notice,"  Marguerite  cut  in,  "that  you  are  changed, 
and  in  no  way  to  your  advantage,  Cousin  Basil.  Once 
you  used  to  be  pleased  at  my  liking  you  so  much,  but  now 
you  have  become  as  repellant  as  possible.  You  pull  faces 
a  yard  long;  you  are  always  in  a  bad  humor,  and  if  it  were 
not  so  preposterous  I  would  almost  begin  to  think  that 
you  do  not  care  for  us  any  more,  and  that  you  have  made 
up  your  mind  to  see  as  little  of  us  as  you  decently  can." 

"Oh,  Innocence!"  Basil  thought,  sadly.  "Thank  God 
she  does  not  know  what  tortures  she  puts  me  through!" 
Aloud  he  said:  "You  are  talking  rank  heresy,  my  dear 
Marguerite.  Your  father  and — yourself  are  among  those 
I  am  most  attached  to — you  can  never  doubt  that!" 

"Thank  you!"  she  scoffed,  with  a  derisive  inclination 
of  her  big  floppy  hat.  "That's  kind  of  you  to  mention  it 
en  passant,  but  let  me  urge  you  to  realize  that  you  give 
no  sign  of  it." 

"You  cannot  expect  to  have  a  monopoly  of  my  affec- 
tions!" muttered  Basil,  driven  to  desperation. 

Marguerite  bent  forward  and  looked  straight  at  him. 
"What  did  you  say  ...  a  monopoly?"  Her  voice  was 
now  very  cool  and  nonchalant.  Basil  caught  the  look 
and  his  breath  at  one  and  the  same  time.  Where  had  this 
child  learned  to  speak  like  that?  Atavism?  The  Mar- 
quise of  the  bird-suite  at  Plenhoel  could  not  have  done 

102 


MOONGLADE 

better  if  talking  to  the  canaille  at  the  foot  of  the  guillo- 
tine; and  not  for  the  life  of  him  could  he  utter  a  word 
in  self-defense. 

"A  monopoly!"  the  "Gamin"  repeated.  "You  use 
funny  expressions  sometimes,  my  cousin,  and  I  must  say 
that  you  amuse  me  very  much." 

"You  don't  amuse  me!"  he  interposed,  hotly.  "I 
don't  know,  moreover,  why  you  take  my  words  so  greatly 
amiss.  What  I  am  trying  to  make  you  understand  is 
that  if  I  do  not  come  here  as — well,  as  often  as  I  could  wish, 
it  is  because  I  have  other  calls  upon — er — my  time;  im- 
perative demands  upon — my  attention.  My  duty — you 
understand,  is  to — " 

She  did  not  let  him  finish.  "You  are  the  best  judge 
of  your  conduct  and  the  employment  of  your  time,  and  I 
regret  having — twitted  you  about  it.  I  am  afraid  it  was 
very  silly  of  me,  but  you  see  I  am  still  very  much  the 
mere  child  you  used  to  laugh  with  at  Plenhoel.  You 
may  remember,  perhaps,  our  last  little  encounter  on  that 
subject?" 

She  laughed,  rose,  and  in  a  slightly  constrained  tone 
added:  "Hadn't  you  better  go  and  see  papa?  He  is  at 
the  top  of  the  house,  grubbing  in  the  dust  of  a  wonderful 
garret,  full  of  delightful  vieilleries,  together  with  some  work- 
men who  are  supposed  to  repair  pipes,  or  leaders — I  don't 
exactly  know  which.  Papa  is  extremely  proud  of  his 
fifteenth -century  garrets,  let  me  tell  you!  One  never 
knows  where  vanity  is  going  to  take  root!" 

Basil  had  risen  slowly,  and  was  gazing  at  her  as  she 
made  her  way  to  the  bay  leading  through  to  the  next 
salon,  and  his  lips  were  not  very  steady  when  he  spoke 
again: 

"You  are  not  angry,  Marguerite?"  This  timidly,  al- 
most in  a  whisper.  She  turned  back  with  a  queer  little 
laugh. 

' '  Angry  ?"  she  asked.  ' '  Not  a  bit  of  it.  It  isn't  worth 

103 


MOONGLADE 

while.  But  hark  you,  Cousin  Basil,  don't  make  any 
mistake.  The  'Gamin'  is  a  better  friend  of  yours  than 
you  think.  I  may  not  yet  be  a  young  lady  with  grand 
manners.  I  am  a  good  little  chap,  however — a  tomboy,  if 
you  like;  but  try  me  if  you  ever  need  a  real,  genuine, 
bona-fide,  faithful-to-the-end  friend,  and  you'll  see!" 

She  pirouetted  and,  beckoning  to  him  to  follow,  raced 
up  the  long  flight  of  secondary  stairs  which  led  to  the 
very  roof. 

Half-way  to  the  top  she  suddenly  paused  on  the  thresh- 
old of  a  domed  and  glassed-in  gallery  that  projected  from 
the  side  of  the  house  over  the  inclosed  garden.  It  was 
filled  with  palms  and  plants  and  blossoming  creepers, 
with  here  and  there  the  fairy  plume  of  a  bamboo  aspiring 
to  the  transparent  curves  above.  The  upper  end  of  this 
miniature  Vale  of  Kashmir  was  crossed  by  a  broad  span 
of  almost  invisible  wire,  behind  which  birds  of  a  tropical 
splendor  of  feather  flitted  hither  and  yon.  The  liquid 
counterpart  of  this  delightful  unstill  life  was  afforded  by 
a  long  crystal  panel  revealing  the  musical  spirt  of  a 
fountain,  and  a  background  of  gorgeous  aquatic  plants, 
crisscrossed  by  the  alert  dartings  of  the  prettiest  collec- 
tion of  highly  painted  fishes  possible  to  imagine.  Mov- 
ing jewels  they  seemed,  as  they  quadrilled  in  the  clear 
element  of  their  birth,  and  not  unhappy  at  all,  as  most 
aquarium-dwellers  seem  to  be,  for  their  perfect  comfort  had 
been  studiously  considered,  and  they  appeared  very  much 
in  love  with  existence  as  it  was  made  for  them  there. 

Basil  had  come  to  a  standstill  behind  the  'Gamin,'  and 
as  she  turned  to  speak  he  thought:  "Her  breath  is  as 
meadowsweet,  her  face  like  a  flower,  her  hair  was  assured- 
ly spun  by  elves,  and  her  eyes — "  Here  comparison  failed 
him,  and  with  bent  head  he  listened  to  the  end  of  a  sen- 
tence he  had  not  been  conscious  of  her  beginning. 

" — you  might  as  well  tell  me,  after  all,"  the  low,  clear 
voice  was  saying,  and  he  looked  helplessly  at  her. 

104 


MOONGLADE 

"Didn't  you  hear  what  I  asked?"  she  petulant- 
ly exclaimed.  "I  am  speaking  plain  French,  am  I 
not?" 

Plain  French!  Could  anything  be  plain  that  was  con- 
nected with  her? 

"What  were  you  asking?"  he  found  himself  forced  to 
answer  to  those  indignant  eyes. 

"Oh,  you  don't  even  listen  any  more!"  she  reproached. 

"I  am  an  idiot!"  he  humbly  confessed.  "An  idiot  and 
a  boor!" 

Her  soft,  ringing  laugh  suddenly  rippled  out  beneath 
the  opulent  foliage. 

"My  poor  Basil!"  she  sympathized.  "That's  what 
comes  of  being  in  love!  Hortense  Gervex  used  to  tell 
me,  when  I  was  a  baby,  that  Cupid  is  the  silliest  of  all  the 
gods,  because  he  takes  a  malicious  pleasure  in  stupefying 
all  his  subjects." 

"Comes  from  being  in  love?"  Basil  said,  slowly.  "Oh, 
of  course  that  would  be  an  explanation." 

"It  is!"  she  triumphed.  "Why,  ever  since  you  met 
Laurence  you  have  been  so  different,  so  unlike  your  old 
self.  Still,  you  should  not  carry  your  absence-of-mind 
too  far;  it  is  dreadfully  impolite,  you  know." 

'I  know,"  he  assented,  apparently  quite  absorbed  in 
the  fantastic  beauty  of  a  bird-of-paradise  blossom  he  had 
disengaged  from  amid  its  long,  lance-like  leaves. 

'Well,  if  you  know,  and  are  properly  contrite  for  your 
sins,  do  you  mind  if  I  now  repeat  my  question?" 

"Mind?  Repeat  it  by  all  means,  if  you  find  me  still 
worthy  of  the  slightest  attention." 

She  had  walked  farther  into  the  perfumed  bower,  and 
was  now  standing  in  the  searching  noonday  light  that  was 
powerless  to  reveal  a  single  flaw  in  her  loveliness.  She 
looked  like  one  of  the  faintly-rose  camellias  on  a  near-by 
bush — surely  made  from  the  same  cool  velvet  as  her 
little  face. 

8  105 


MOONGLADE 

She  inclined  her  head  graciously — the  "Gamin"  was 
certainly  growing  up  in  the  social  amenities. 

"You  will  not  think  me  altogether  indiscreet — I  hope," 
she  questioned,  in  a  suddenly  crisp-cut  voice  he  had  never 
heard  her  use  before,  and  there  was  a  quaint  little  assump- 
tion of  solicitude  as  she  went  on,  "if  I  reask  where  you 
intend  to  spend  the  summer?" 

Basil's  spirit  was  by  this  time  in  sad  confusion,  but 
he  must  answer  her,  and  yet  he  could  not  bring  himself 
to  admit  that  it  would  be  in  a  place  far  removed  from 
their  beloved  haunts.  An  automatic  second-self,  doubt- 
less summoned  by  the  puzzling  emergency,  spoke  for  him. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  slowly,  "I  might  safely  assert  that 
I  do  not  know  as  yet." 

She  gave  a  light  little  laugh,  and  appeared  to  ponder 
for  a  moment. 

"I" — there  was  the  briefest  suspension — "I  am  very 
glad  you  do  not  know  as  yet.  Because  it  may  turn  out 
to  be  in  Brittany!" 

"That  was  a  near  thing,"  Basil  thought,  drawing  a 
profound  but  silent  sigh  of  momentary  relief. 

"Still,  are  you  quite  sure  that  you  do  not  know — as 
yet?"  she  resumed,  taking  a  step  in  the  direction  of  a  sort 
of  Dresden-china  hod  hanging  between  two  pomegranate- 
bushes,  that  grew  luxuriantly  from  old  Spanish  oil-jars  of 
that  green  earthenware  which  makes  one's  mouth  water  to 
look  at,  and  plunging  her  hand  into  one  of  its  cunningly 
devised  compartments,  extracted  therefrom  a  little  fist- 
ful of  bird-seed. 

"This  is  the  pantry,"  she  explained,  holding  a  fold  of 
her  skirt  up  to  catch  the  surplus  filtering  through  her 
fingers.  "Would  you  like  to  feed  them?" 

"Whom?" 

' '  Again  ? ' '  she  laughed.  ' '  Wool-gathering  again !  Why, 
naturally,  I  meant  the  elephants  in  the  Jardin  des  Plantes. 
How  did  you  fail  to  guess  that?" 

106 


MOONGLADE 

"I  am  sorry.  ...  I  was  trying  to  solve  ...  a  problem  . . . 
concerning  the  ...  er  ...  social  question." 

"Dear  me!  Poor  old  Basil!  If  you  keep  such  lofty 
ideals  always  before  you  you'll  soon  cease  being  a  social 
success.  Besides,"  she  glibly  continued,  "it  is  notjn 
your  line  to  ponder  and  reflect  like  a  fuzzy  old  owl;  you 
are  a  man  of  action,  par  excellence,  and  when  one  tries  to 
force  one's  talents  one  does  nothing  with  grace." 

"Are  you  turning  philosopher?"  he  tried  to  taunt  her. 

"Philosophy  is  becoming  part  of  my  day's  work,"  she 
airily  replied.  "But  now  do  look  at  Bolingbroke;  he  is 
awfully  jealous!" 

"Bolingbroke!  May  I  be  pardoned  for  hazarding  an- 
other question?  Who  is  Bolingbroke?" 

Marguerite  looked  at  Basil,  and  again  her  glance  held 
a  subtle  mixture  of  mirth  and  gravity. 

"You — as  I  remarked  before — are  getting  into  the  sad 
habit  of  forgetting  your  most  faithful  friends  and  honest 
admirers.  Why  this  is  Bolingbroke!"  And  she  pointed 
with  an  upward  toss  of  her  obstinate  little  chin  to  a  gilded 
swing  whereon  reposed,  in  magnificent  dignity,  a  great 
white  cockatoo,  crested  and  tailed  with  brilliant  orange. 
Some  subterranean  disturbance  was  agitating  his  snowy 
breast  feathers,  and  his  round  eyes,  dilated  with  greed, 
watched  Marguerite's  every  move  as  she  fed  the  lesser 
luminaries  below. 

"  Oh ,  you  wretched  usurper !' '  She  addressed  him  grand- 
iloquently. "This  form  of  food  would  neither  suit  nor 
please  you,  and  yet  you  covet  it !  Isn't  that  very  human  ?' ' 
she  tragically  demanded  of  Basil,  who  had  at  last  man- 
aged to  summon  an  apology  for  a  laugh  to  his  assistance. 
"Remind  yourself,"  she  went  on  flippantly,  "that,  unlike 
some  others  of  his  kind,  he  cannot  express  his  desires  by 
word  of  beak.  Repressed  inclinations  are  hard  to  bear, 
but  the  impossibility  of  ever  giving  them  voice,  excepting 
by  shrieks  of  distress,  must  be  awful  indeed!" 

107 


MOONGLADE 

Basil  was  watching  her  intently,  trying  in  vain  to  dis- 
cover whether  she  was  quite  as  joyful  as  she  seemed. 

"Would  you  oblige  me  by  making  a  long  arm — you  are 
so  agreeably  tall — and  presenting  this  token  of  our  joint 
regard  to  yonder  regicide?"  she  resumed,  indicating  a  ma- 
jolica wooden  shoe  on  a  table  close  by.  "No,  not  the 
whole  thing;  one  of  the  therein-contained  biscuits  .  .  . 
please!" 

And  while  complying  with  her  request  Basil  was 
thinking,  thinking,  thinking!  "What  a  coward  I  am! 
Why  not  tell  her  the  truth?  What's  the  use  of  shirk- 
ing the  task  because  it  hurts  me  to  do  the  right  thing? 
And  what  would  she  really  care,  this  heavenly  baby, 
with  her  toys,  her  exquisite  amusements,  her  deadly 
simplicity?  She  will  not  miss  me  a  moment  of  all  those 
years  to  come." 

"Poverino!"  Marguerite  was  meanwhile  apostrophiz- 
ing the  ill-tempered  bird.  "Here,  you !  Accept  this  offer- 
ing gently  if  you  can.  It  is  well  meant,  and  the  biscuit 
is  good  and  sweet!  Mille  grazie,  eccellenze,"  she  added 
to  Basil.  "I  am  in  an  Italian  mood  to-day,  as  you  may 
perceive.  This  gracious  retreat  looks  Italian,  I  think; 
so  do  the  camellias,  and  the  blue  sky  over  our  crystalline 
dome;  so  do  these  little  pet  vassals  of  mine;  feeding  from 
the  hand,  as  all  properly  self-respecting  vassals  should 
do." 

She  tossed  the  rest  of  her  fistful  of  seeds  to  the  Bengalis, 
the  gold  and  green  finches,  the  slim  Holland  canaries,  the 
redcaps,  and  twenty  other  chiefs  of  tribe  whirling  around 
on  the  sanded  floor  of  their  palatial  abode  to  snatch  the 
tempting  breakfast  from  one  another. 

"They  are  human,"  he  harshly  commented  while  fol- 
lowing their  airy  gyrations,  "hence  quarrelsome  and  en- 
vious, just  like  Bolingbroke.  Too  bad  that  such  inno- 
cent-looking creatures  should  have  such  beastly  faults!" 

Marguerite  seemed  suddenly  troubled.  "Why  are  you 

1 08 


MOONGLADE 

bitter  even  about  trifles?"  she  queried.  "Is  that  yet 
another  departure  from  the  old  state  of  affairs?" 

"Perhaps,"  he  replied,  in  a  tone  that  strove  in  vain 
to  be  light.  "I  must  be  unlearning  fast  the  art  of  life 
as  it  should  be  lived.  I  suppose  that  with  the  years  one 
passes  from  disenchantment  to  disenchantment.  Isn't 
that  the  rule  of  all  down-slope  walkers?" 

With  a  quick  intake  of  breath  Marguerite  swung 
round  toward  him,  and  his  heart  contracted  horribly  as 
he  saw  that  her  eyes  were  wet. 

"There  is  something  amiss,"  she  whispered,  bending 
ever  so  slightly  forward,  and  stretching  her  little  palms 
downward  as  if  in  swift  renunciation  of  all  that  she  had 
ever  held.  "There  is  something.  I  knew  it.  I  felt 
it Tell  me,  Basil ...  tell  me!" 

He  had  not  bargained  for  this,  and  he  was  now  dully 
doubting  his  own  ears.  Could  this  be  Marguerite  speak- 
ing? 

"Something  amiss?"  he  repeated  after  her  with  would- 
be  emphasis.  "Oh,  now  look  here,  my  dear  child,  be 
reasonable,  please,  and  do  cease  to  imagine  that  I  am 
trying  to  conceal  some  catastrophe  from  you." 

But  Marguerite  would  no  longer  accept  equivocation 
of  any  sort. 

"Reasonable?"  she  said,  more  calmly.  "I  am  reason- 
able enough — at  least  for  my  age.  And  if  you  only  reflect 
you  will  admit  that  I  have  some  small  reason  to  ask  what 
I  do — some  infinitesimal  right,  as  a  friend,  if  you  prefer 
it  so." 

"Oh  yes — she  too  has  rights!"  flashed  keenly  through 
his  mind.  "And  better  ones  than  any  other  human  being, 
if  she  but  knew  it."  "Certainly,"  he  said  aloud,  "you 
have  all  possible  rights  as  my  friend — as  any  of  my  friends 
have — to  know  what  concerns  me;  but  there  is  nothing — 
nothing  worth  telling,  I  assure  you." 

"Nothing?"  she  exclaimed.  "When  you  are  as  dull  as 

109 


MOONGLADE 

ditch-water — when  you  seem  as  blue  as — "  Her  eyes 
went  to  the  transparent  vaulting  scarcely  veiling  the  sky, 
as  if  searching  for  a  fitting  comparison,  and  he  grasped  at 
his  last  chance  of  repairing  his  previous  mistake. 

"I  am  blue,  and  a  little  sad;  perhaps  you  are  right." 
He  hesitated.  "Just  as  any  one  else  would  be  who  con- 
templates a  certain  change  in  existing  circumstances." 

She  was  looking  at  him  steadily,  unswervingly,  wait- 
ingly. 

"When  I  told  you  a  little  while  ago  that  I  didn't  know 
as  yet  exactly  where  I  would  spend  the  summer,  I  was 
speaking  the  truth.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  do  not  know 
yet  exactly  where,  but  it  will  be  somewhere  in  Russia, 
probably  at  Tverna,  and  just  ...  on  account  of  this  in- 
decision on  my  part  I  was  afraid  you'd  laugh  at  me  as 
you  so  often  do!" 

"The  Russian  conception  of  what  is  laughable  differs 
by  the  whole  span  of  heaven  from  mine,"  she  said,  with 
suspicious  quietness.  "The  point  of  interest  is,  however, 
whether  you  are  going  there  a-Maying  in  the  mud,  or  ... 
whether  .  .  .  well,  whether  you  will  be  gone  long.  ...  I 
mean  after  the  Maying  and  the  summering  are  both  done 
with." 

Reassured  by  her  deceiving  calm,  he  thought  himself 
clever  to  seize  the  moment  when  truth  might  be  quite 
truthfully  conveyed. 

"That  depends  upon  so  many  circumstances,"  he  ex- 
plained. "It  is  impossible  to  be  precise,  but  I  should 
say  .  .  .  yes,  I  should  certainly  say  that  it  may  take  .  .  .  er 
...  a  year,  or  even  more,  to  bring  matters  requiring  my 
presence  at  home  to  a  satisfactory  conclusion." 

Her  pitiful  little  face  had  slowly  whitened  as  he  spoke, 
and  suddenly  he  felt  her  fingers  desperately  clutching  his 
arm. 

"A  year  or  more  ...  oh!  what  shall  I  do  without — !" 

The  rest  was  strangled  by  a  will-power  fifty  years  older 

no 


MOONGLADE 

than  herself.  But  for  a  second  she  stood  shaking  from 
head  to  foot,  trying  vainly  to  master  feelings  too  com- 
plex and  difficult  for  her  young  soul  to  understand;  and 
he — well,  he  remained  frozen  to  his  place,  not  daring  to 
move,  to  say  a  word;  absolutely  terrified  for  the  first 
time  in  his  brave,  straight  life. 

From  his  high  perch  Bolingbroke  watched  the  scene, 
half  of  his  biscuit  still  held  firmly  in  one  sharp  claw,  his 
brilliant  head  inclined  to  one  side  critically,  cynically — 
one  would  have  sworn.  "What  fools  these  mortals  be!" 
he  seemed  to  say,  and  doubtless  to  create  a  diversion  he 
dropped  the  remainder  of  his  tidbit  upon  Basil's  shoulder, 
and  burst  into  a  demoniacal  yell,  like  that  of  a  Comanche 
Indian  on  the  war-path. 

The  "Gamin"  gave  a  little  laugh  so  queer  that  it  made 
its  hearer  ready  to  cry,  and  she  let  go  of  his  arm.  "You 
wicked  old  witch-bird!"  she  scolded.  "What  a  fright 


you  gave  me 


"He  is  a  bit  startling!"  Basil  assented,  endeavoring  to 
get  control  of  his  voice. 

"Yes,  he  makes  one's  head  ache,"  she  corroborated. 
' '  But  just  think  of  it !  Poor  papa  is  still  in  the  dust.  Let's 
go  and  sweep  the  cobwebs  off  him.  He  must  be  covered 
with  them!" 

She  made  a  swift  move  toward  the  flower-gallery's 
jessamine-draped  doorway,  and  paused,  holding  lightly 
to  a  drooping  branch. 

"By  the  way,"  she  said,  over  her  shoulder,  "when  do 
you  go?" 

"When  do  I — go?  In  a  few  days,  but .  .  .  I'll  certainly 
come  and  say  farewell  before  I  do,"  he  lamely  replied. 

"Thanks  so  much!  Yes,  I  think  it  will  be  right  to 
remember  us  on  such  an  occasion.  Papa  is  so  very 
punctilious  about  matters  of  etiquette,  you  know!" 

She  again  gave  that  queer  little  laugh  that  dismayed 
him,  and  disappeared  into  the  hall. 

in 


"  Marguerite !"  he  called,  hurriedly.  "  Next  time  it  will 
be  official,  and  I  will  not  be  alone.  Can't  you  say  au  revoir 
properly  now?"  He  knew  he  should  not  have  said  that 
as  soon  as  he  had  done  so. 

Counting  her  steps  mechanically,  she  came  back,  and 
here  at  last  was  the  doorway  within  which  he  stood. 
Sweet  and  serene  she  reached  his  side.  A  little  color  had 
come  back  to  her  face. 

"Of  course  I  can,"  she  assented.  "Au  revoir,  Cousin 
Basil!  Au  revoir  and  good-luck  to  you!" 

Could  he  stand  much  more  of  this?  His  handsome 
features  looked  suddenly  wooden  beneath  their  extreme 
pallor,  but  she  was  no  longer  looking  at  him.  For  the 
fraction  of  a  second  he  hesitated.  Could  he  venture  to 
take  her  in  his  arms,  just  this  once,  like  a  child  one  has 
known  and  cherished  all  one's  life?  A  shiver  ran  all  over 
him.  The  pause  had  been  too  short  to  attract  her  notice, 
but  it  had  served  its  turn.  Summoning  to  his  aid  his  last 
remnants  of  self-respect,  he  held  out  both  his  hands,  in 
which  she  put  her  own. 

"Au  revoir,  and  God  keep  you  in  His  care!"  he  said, 
very  low;  then,  hastily,  almost  brusquely,  he  pressed  his 
lips  into  the  rosy  hollow  of  each  little  palm  and  dropped 
them. 

"God  bless  you  and  keep  you,"  she  whispered,  and, 
turning  quickly  on  her  pointed  heels,  she  preceded  him 
up-stairs  to  the  dusty  regions  where  "Antinous"  was  so 
usefully  occupied. 


CHAPTER  X 

There  be  twin  crowns,  whose  kingly  dower 
Forbids  to  fail  or  swerve, 
Borne  by  twin  angels,  Love  and  Power, 
And  writ  thereon,  "I  serve." 

"An,  yes,  Princess,  I  pity  you  with  all  my  heart! 
Imagine  hiding  your  charm,  your  beauty,  in  a  prison  like 
Tverna — excuse  me,  Basil-Vassili£vitch — but  you  know 
that  Tverna,  magnificent  though  it  be,  is  a  prison  nine 
months  out  of  the  year  ...  a  grand  prison,  I  admit,  but 
still  a  jail — a  place  to  distract  one  with  its  loneliness." 

Countess  Chouroff ,  sitting  bolt  upright  in  her  chair  of 
state,  was  heading  her  hospitable  table  in  a  dazzling  haze 
of  jewels  that  outlined  her  meager  person  at  every  edge. 

"She  reminds  me  of  a  wire  sign  illuminated  by  elec- 
tricity," thought  Basil,  who  sat  on  her  right  hand. 

"You  are  very  severe,  Vassilissa-Andrievna,  very  severe 
indeed,  to  my  birthplace!"  he  said,  smiling. 

"Severe!  Hear  this  miscreant  talk!"  she  appealed  to 
the  company,  nodding  a  tiaraed  coiffure  until  the  gigan- 
tic diamonds  and  emeralds  spiking  it  in  every  direction 
flashed  again.  "But  men  are  like  that  .  .  .  they  do  not 
understand  our  tenderer  natures.  My  poor  husband  was 
identically  the  same — God  rest  his  soul!"  She  crossed 
herself  scrupulously  with  a  bony  yellow  hand  loaded  with 
enormous  gems.  "Duty  was  his  eternal  rallying-cry — 
bless  him!  It  was  our  duty  to  vegetate  in  the  wilds  at 
his  side  until  it  became  imperative  for  our  daughters  to 

113 


MOONGLADE 

be  presented,  and  then  the  grumbles,  the  lamentations 
that  ensued!  Dear!  Dear!  One  would  have  sworn  he 
was  on  his  way  to  be  crucified.  I  assure  you,  Princess, 
that  if  you  yield  at  the  beginning  to  marital  tyranny  you 
will  never  again  be  able  to  call  your  soul  your  own." 

Laurence,  in  all  the  panoply  of  a  great  mondaine  at  a 
feast  given  in  her  honor,  was  somehow  or  other  entirely 
out  of  it.  This  was  something  never  dreamt  of  before: 
a  dinner  at  one  of  the  most  ancient  houses  of  a  far-off 
Russian  province,  carried  out  with  the  pompous  cere- 
monial and  curious  discomforts  of  past  days,  in  a  ban- 
queting-hall  spacious  enough  to  shelter  an  army  and 
evidently  open  to  all  the  winds  of  heaven.  It  was  raining 
heavily  outside,  with  no  promise  of  better  things  to  come, 
and  from  her  place  she  could  see  files  of  servants  in  full 
livery  running  to  and  fro  from  the  kitchen — built  a  la 
mode  d'il-y-a  longtemps,  in  the  middle  of  the  inner  court — 
bearing  covered  silver  dishes,  all  adrip  with  the  diluvian 
downpour.  The  majordomo,  stiff  as  a  ramrod,  advanced 
as  far  as  the  edge  of  the  glass  marquise  every  five  minutes 
or  so,  to  convey  his  orders  in  a  withering  autocratic  voice 
which  grew  sweet  as  honey  the  minute  he  re-entered  the 
banqueting-hall,  and  the  four  butlers  in  attendance 
marched  and  countermarched  with  the  omnipresent  lac- 
queys, all  attired  in  the  Chouroff  scarlet  and  gold,  like 
captains  heading  small  detachments  of  troops.  What 
manner  of  country  was  this? 

Another  surprising  anachronism — at  least  so  it  ap- 
peared to  her — was  the  fact  that  albeit  this  was  an  oc- 
casion when,  to  use  the  French  simile,  the  little  dishes 
had  been  rammed  into  the  big  ones  (les  petits  plats  dans 
les  grands'),  yet  the  feudal  custom  of  "guests  below  the 
salt"  was  strictly  adhered  to.  Indeed,  the  implacable 
etiquette  of  the  House  of  Chouroff  separated  the  festive 
board  into  two  exact  parts,  one  reserved  for  ceremoniously 
invited  gentlemen  and  ladies,  the  Other  for  the  poor  rela- 

114 


MOONGLADE 

tives,  the  hangers-on,  and  the  household  proper-*-compris- 
ing  tutors,  governesses,  the  Polish  land-steward,  a  host 
of  lady  companions,  another  of  penniless  noble  damsels 
awaiting  the  Countess's  good  pleasure  to  obtain  a  small 
"dot"  from  her  generosity,  the  almoner,  the  medical 
officer  of  the  district,  and  other  functionaries  of  similar 
importance. 

"What  an  idea!"  Laurence  reflected.  "What  ex- 
travagant barbarism  and  outlandishness!  How  they 
would  laugh  at  home  if  they  saw  this."  Laugh  she  did 
not,  however.  She  was  impressed,  in  spite  of  her  silent 
disapproval,  and  a  little  frightened,  too.  This  master- 
ful woman  in  claret-hued  velvet,  who  led  her  people  with 
something  like  a  field  -  marshal's  baton,  and  managed, 
however,  to  inspire  them  with  a  curious  mixture  of  pas- 
sionate devotion  and  abject  terror,  remained  a  mysterious 
and  awesome  power  to  her.  Also  Countess  Chouroff  was 
by  no  means  dazzled  by  her,  Laurence's,  high  rank  and 
fortune,  for  she  was  absurdly  wealthy  herself,  and  a  very 
great  lady,  notwithstanding  her  oddities  and  extrava- 
gances of  speech;  a  personage  of  weight  and  power  in  the 
land  such  as  Laurence  could  never  hope  to  be,  and  one 
with  whom  the  new-comer  could  not,  as  she  had  done 
with  almost  everybody  elsewhere,  pose  and  posture,  which, 
of  course,  vexed  the  bride  not  a  little. 

"You  can  never  realize,"  Madame  Chour6ff  was  say- 
ing now,  "what  a  trip  to  Petersburg  meant  then,  Princess! 
Oh,  it  was  a  voyage  indeed!  We  looked  like  a  veritable 
Noah's  ark  procession,  let  me  tell  you,  setting  off  from 
here  after  the  snow  began  to  bear.  Berlines  swung  on 
runners,  and  kibitkas  and  fourgons — preceded  by  couriers 
on  horseback  or  in  light  wagons — tiUgas — and  what  not? 
A  noise,  a  clamor,  when  getting  under  way,  of  which  you 
can  have  no  conception !  Of  course  we  had  to  carry  with 
us  half  of  the  batterie  de  cuisine — how  else  would  we  have 
fared  on  the  road? — and  the  chef  with  his  scullions,  his 

"5 


MOONGLADE 

silver  saucepans!  How  he  would  swear  over  the  portable 
stoves  to  be  used  en  route,  at  the  miserable  post-houses!" 
She  laughed  heartily,  creating  thereby  a  veritable  pyro- 
technic commotion  with  her  jewels. 

''I  remember  once  when  we  were  snowed  in,  stuck  fast 
between  two  stations  —  post-stations,  you  understand — 
flakes  as  big  as  swans'  wings  falling,  falling,  falling  in  a 
dense  curtain.  Four  of  my  children  were  almost  infants 
then,  eight  and  nine  years  old,  I  think.  Let  me  see,  was 
it  the  twins?  ...  I  can't  remember;  perhaps  Zina  and 
Dimitri,  Nikola  and  Sdnitzka;  it  does  not  matter,  how- 
ever. Anyhow,  they  were  asleep  in  their  father's  travel- 
ing-carriage, at  full  length,  so  that  he  had  to  get  out  and 
join  me  and  the  girls — four  of  them,  mind  you — that 
made  six  of  us  pressed  together  like  sardines,  eating  on 
our  laps  from  the  provision-baskets,  and  swallowing  red- 
hot  tea  brewed  by  the  chief  of  our  kitchens  beneath  a 
lean-to  of  pine  branches  in  the  very  throat  of  the  tem- 
pest. Behind  the  berline  the  maid's  rumble  was  getting 
full  of  snow.  It  was  droll!  You  must  understand  the 
berline  was  honeycombed  with  drawers  and  receptacles, 
and  there  were  supplementary  sacks  of  leather  attached 
everywhere.  As  to  my  'sleeper,'  it  did  not  boast  so 
many  appendages  and  cachettes;  it  was  much  lighter, 
and  lined  with — what  do  you  think? — with  rose-colored 
satin  —  a  conceit  of  my  poor  husband.  It  had  served 
us  on  our  honeymoon.  And  that  night  he  was  in  a  vile 
humor,  thanks  to  the  fact  that  for  the  first  time  in 
his  existence  he  had  been  deprived  of  his  indispensable 
rastigai — marrow-filled  -pates  —  since  you  do  not  know 
Russian,  Princess.  Oh,  but  we  had  ices! . . .  Don't  laugh, 
Basil- Vassilievitch!  That  cook  was  a  pearl,  and  with 
the  aid  of  essences  of  various  fruits  and  powdered  nuts, 
of  which  he  always  took  a  quantity  along,  he  manu- 
factured a  sort  of  Nesselrode  in  little  moulds.  Delicious 
they  were,  too,  but  they  did  not  appease  my  poor  hus- 

116 


MOONGLADE 

band's  wrath  concerning  those  rastigai.  He"  told  the 
butler  some  impatient  things  when  he  brought  the  Nessel- 
rode  shapes  on  a  frozen  tray,  and  repented  afterward,  for 
he  was  consummately  golden-hearted.  I  recall  that  he 
gave  him  ten  rubles — gold — the  next  morning.  We -left 
the  berline  to  the  girls  after  that,  and  took  refuge,  he  and 
I,  in  my  'sleeper.'  He  became  quite  too  amiable  then, 
poor  fellow,  also  he  was  very  handsome,  an  all-conquer- 
ing mustache — a  leg ! — men  wore  knee-breeches  still — but 
I  was  adamant.  I  had  to  punish  him  for  his  previous 
evil  mood,  and  so  I  threatened  to  send  him  to  sleep  in 
the  cook's  shelter.  Ah,  the  days  of  our  youth  .  .  .  how 
often  we  regret  them!" 

Laurence's  amazement  knew  no  bounds  when  she  heard 
the  bursts  of  laughter  that  followed  at  her  end  of  the 
table — echoed  -pianissimo  by  those  below  the  salt.  All 
this  was  hardly  decent,  she  thought,  for  she  had  a 
singular  fund  of  prudishness  concealed  far  down  below 
many  other  more  agreeable  defects.  This  old  woman, 
with  her  angular  shoulders,  her  corded  neck  and  parch- 
mented  skin,  seemed  to  her  own  youth  positively  odious 
as  she  sat  enthroned  there,  flying  her  arms  and  bewail- 
ing her  lost  opportunities.  She  wondered  at  Basil,  who 
seemed  quite  touched,  and  patted  almost  filially  one  of 
the  flat  wrists,  crowded  to  the  elbow  with  porte-boriheurs, 
that  reposed  for  a  fleeting  second  on  the  cloth  beside 
him.  To  Laurence  the  deeps  of  those  wonderful  sapphire 
eyes  that  had  been  always  the  Countess's  sole  but  very 
potent  beauty,  and  were  still  so  infinitely  expressive 
and  youthful,  said  nothing  at  all,  although  they  were  just 
now  not  quite  free  from  a  certain  telltale  moisture.  "An 
old  absurdity,"  she  called  the  great  lady  in  her  own 
mind,  and,  like  the  Nesselrode  tray  of  the  defunct  Count, 
she  froze  up  through  and  through,  becoming  with  every 
new  experience  more  hostile  to  the  foreign  atmosphere 
surrounding  her. 

117 


MOONGLADE 

The  farther  she  penetrated  into  the  heart  of  Russia 
the  less  she  comprehended  or  liked  her  new  coun- 
try. Indeed,  slowly  but  surely  a  sort  of  abhorrence  for 
everything  pertaining  to  it  was  rising  within  her;  and 
her  hard  face  and  unsympathetic  expression  made  one 
young  officer  on  leave  murmur  to  another  young  officer 
on  leave,  who  sat  beside  him  at  table  that  night:  "I  say, 
Voinoff,  Palitzin's  efforts  to  marry  a  foreigner  are  all  in 
vain.  He's  caught  a  Tartar,  after  all!" 

The  other,  whose  uniform  glittered  like  sunshine,  and 
whose  name  was  the  vernacular  for  "Warrior,"  was 
blessed  with  one  of  those  meek  faces  that  are  greatly 
confirmed  in  that  expression  by  sleek,  butter-hued  hair 
rigidly  parted  all  the  way  down  the  middle,  as  was  his. 
Also  he  had  a  habit  of  blushing  all  over  his  scalp,  which 
made  him  resemble  for  minutes  at  a  time  what  the  Italians 
frivolously  call  un  piccolo  porcellino.  He  indulged  in  one 
of  these  manifestations  at  his  comrade's  words,  adding 
thereto  a  smothered  squeal  of  delight,  which  completed 
the  likeness  very  neatly. 

"I  catch  you  laughing  at  me,  Yegor-Alexandreitch !" 
Countess  Chouroff  called  out  to  him.  "You  think  my 
little  stories  are  not  befitting  this  noble  assemblage!" 

"It  ...  it  is  Zakbarief!"  choked  the  youth,  getting 
pinker  and  pinker  under  his  pale,  silky  thatch.  "He  is 
so  funny!" 

Zakbarief  tried  to  protest,  but  vainly,  for  Madame 
Chouroff  had  already  launched  herself  into  another  anec- 
dote, and  he  relapsed  into  silence,  bestowing  dagger-like 
looks  upon  his  grinning  brother-at-arms. 

Dessert  was  approaching,  heralded  by  turreted  con- 
fections, reminding  one  involuntarily  of  the  glorious  ice 
palace  that  every  winter  is  built  on  the  Neva;  by  pyra- 
mids of  sweet  cakes  and  transparent  edifices  of  jelly 
which  it  took  two  men  to  carry.  According  to  Russian 
fashion,  the  fruit  and  bonbons  and  minor  toothsome- 

118 


MOONGLADE 

nesses  had  had  their  place  on  the  cloth  from  the  begin- 
ning of  dinner,  cincturing  with  their  appetizing  battal- 
ions the  masses  of  flowers  and  feathery  foliage  forming 
the  center  and  wings  of  that  opulent  display.  Lucullus 
dining  with  Lucullus  could  have  devised  nothing  more 
truly  complete. 

"You  are  bored,  madame?  You  think  our  agapes  too 
ostentatious?"  The  question  was  asked  by  Laurence's 
left-hand  neighbor,  whom  it  must  be  admitted  she,  in  her 
fault-finding  and  sulky  mood,  had  absolutely  neglected, 
as  she  had  also  her  right-hand  one,  who,  by  the  way, 
was  a  corpulent  Chouroff,  more  interested  in  his  plate 
than  in  pretty  women.  To  be  sure,  when  the  general 
presentations  had  been  gone  through  she  had  not  heard 
either  name,  and,  as  if  perversely  inclined,  the  little 
dinner-cards  inscribed  with  them  had  lain  prone  on  their 
faces  between  her  cover  and  theirs.  Yet  the  speaker  was 
not  a  man  to  be  easily  overlooked.  Tall,  slender,  with- 
out being  in  the  least  thin,  he  had  the  most  interesting 
face  imaginable:  a  delicately  aquiline  face,  barred  by  a 
long,  slender  mustache  inclining  to  a  light  frost  of  gray- 
ness,  which  was  repeated  in  his  thick,  short-cut  hair. 
Deep  under  well-marked  brows  were  what  could  well 
have  been  called,  after  the  fashion  of  lady  -  novelists, 
"eagle's  eyes,"  so  penetrating  were  they,  and  he  wore 
his  dress-coat  like  a  hauberk — a  soldier  every  inch  of 
him,  if  out  of  uniform — a  Grand  Seigneur  of  olden  times 
in  modern  mufti. 

"Not  precisely  bored,"  drawled  Laurence,  turning 
languidly  toward  him.  "But  a  little  surprised  at  what 
I  see.  Surely,  monsieur,  you  are  not  a  Russian?" 

"I  am  not,  madame,  and  sometimes  I  regret  it,  for 
they  are  a  great  people  over  here." 

"Think  so?" 

"Yes,  madame,  I  do,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart, 
else  I  would  not  have  married  my  wife." 

119 


MOONGLADE 

The  taunt  did  not  pierce  Laurence's  thick  vanity  and 
self-righteousness. 

"You  are  wedded  to  a  Russian?"  she  asked  du  bout  des 
levres. 

"I  am  afraid  you  did  not  catch  my  name  a  while  ago, 
madame.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  have  the  honor  of  being 
closely  related  to  you — by  marriage.  I  am  Salvieres." 

"The  Duke!"  Laurence  exclaimed,  with  sudden  atten- 
tion, and  with  the  same  animation  she  had  displayed 
when  the  "Gamin"  had  mentioned  Salvieres  to  her  at 
Plenhoel;  for  he  was  a  very  great  personage  indeed,  even 
to  Laurence's  colossal  ignorance  of  the  intimate  lining 
of  affairs,  both  social  and  diplomatic. 

He  smiled  amusedly.  "The  Duke!"  he  said.  "Why, 
yes,  I  suppose  I  can  call  myself  one  of  the  unfortunates 
so  hampered,  although  why  you  flatteringly  emphasized 
the  article  I  can't  imagine.  A  greater  distinction  is 
mine,  as  being  now  your  brother-in-law,  very  much  at 
your  service,  belle  petite  madame!" 

"But  where  is  your  wife?" 

"Alas!  at  home,  where  an  incredible  variety  of  occu- 
pations detains  her." 

"What  do  you  call  'at  home'  when  you  are  here?"  she 
asked.  "Madame  de  Salvieres  has  pretty  nearly  as 
many  estates  as  Basil." 

Salvieres  laughed.  He  had  a  charming  laugh,  disclos- 
ing beautifully  regular  teeth.  "My  dear  wife's  castle  of 
Palitzinovna  —  a  prolongation  of  Tverna,  so  to  speak. 
We  are  very  fond  of  it." 

"How  can  you,  the  owner  of  Salvieres,  bear  to  abide 
in  Russia?"  Laurence  insisted,  with  deplorable  bad 
taste. 

"Decidedly  you  do  not  like  the  White  Empire!"  he 
said.  "May  I  be  allowed  to  give  you  a  small  paternal 
hint,  which  is,  do  not  let  Basil  notice  this  too  much,  or 
Tatiana,  either.  She  is  quick  as  a  flash  of  lightning,  is 

120 


MOONGLADE 

my  blonde  beloved,  and  would  resent  such  heresy,  even 
more  than  her  brother  would." 

"Heresy!  I  cannot  believe  that  you  mean  what  you 
say.  I  hate  Russia,  and  I  don't  mind  who  knows^it, 
Monsieur  de  Salvieres." 

"My  name,  dear  madame,  to  family  and  friends  is 
Jean — one  of  Biblical  simplicity  and  easy  to  remember. 
May  I  venture  to  hope  that  you  will  in  future  deign  to 
use  it?  Moreover,  my  character,  undistinguished  though 
it  be  by  any  startling  virtues,  is  simple  also,  and  I  always 
mean  what  I  say,  even  if  I  do  not  always  consider  it  a 
duty  to  say  all  I  mean.  That  is  why  I  spoke  of  heresy 
just  now.  Your  new  country  is  delightful,  as  you  will 
speedily  find  out  for  yourself." 

"You  really  like  Russia,  then?"  she  questioned,  help- 
ing herself  mechanically  to  peach-ice.  "Yes,  Cyprus," 
she  said  to  the  footman  behind  her. 

"I  do,  very,  very  much;  and  so  will  you  when  you 
know  it  better,  I  assure  you.  It  is  an  attaching  land, 
peopled  by  splendid  races,  one  and  all;  a  place  of  great 
deeds,  of  courageous  lives,  of  extraordinary  intellects, 
talents,  and  more  than  talents — achievements.  The 
mujiks,  I  think,  are  unique  in  their  brave  placidity;  but 
they  are  fighters,  too,  and  mighty  good  ones,  when  oc- 
casion requires.  Look  at  what  Skobele'ff  could  do  with 
them!  The  nobles  are  by  no  means  the  profligate  gam- 
blers and  feather-brained  spendthrifts  they  are  often 
supposed  to  be,  but  large-hearted  gentlemen,  devoted  to 
their  very  arduous  duties;  and  as  to  the  women,  rich  or 
poor,  patrician,  peasant,  or  bourgeois — you  must  pardon 
me  if  I  find  it  difficult  to  find  words  adequate  to  trans- 
late my  opinion  of  them,  for  they  are  more  than  women; 
companions  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  comrades, 
counselors — and  precious  ones  at  that!" 

"This  is  sheer  enthusiasm!    How  long  have  you  felt 
all  this?    Since  your  marriage?" 
9  121 


MOONGLADE 

Salvieres  smiled.  "No,"  he  said,  softly,  "ever  since 
as  a  lad  I  came  to  visit  Basil's  grandmother  at  Tverna 
— years  ago.  She  was  the  most  exquisite  creature  one 
could  imagine.  Lovely,  clever,  able,  wise,  sweet  as  a 
flower,  and  so  comprehending,  so  full  of  mercy  and 
charity;  the  courage  and  spirit  of  a  knight — perfection! 
Indeed,  her  personal  magnetism  and  charm  were  so  great 
that  every  man  who  approached  her  fell  in  love  with 
her.  And  how  gracefully  she  used  to  transform  them 
into  lifelong  friends !  Physically  she  was  a  wonder:  little 
hands  and  feet  that  were  a  sculptor's  dream,  an  oval 
face  lighted  by  violet  eyes — yes,  violet  as  the  petals  of 
deep  larkspur;  a  mass  of  undulating  hair — white  as 
nacre  at  thirty,  and  almost  as  iridescent,  it  was  so  bright 
— and  a  poise,  a  maintien.  I  could  become  lyrical  when 
I  think  of  that  exquisite  woman,  whom  no  one  has  ever 
quite  resembled,  excepting,  perhaps,  Marguerite  de  Plen- 
hoel.  Strangely  enough,  later  on  the  'Gamin'  will  as- 
suredly be  a  second  Vera  Petrovna  Chemensky.  Qualities, 
manners,  virtues,  and  talents  are  the  same  already,  and 
even  as  she  is  now  she  always  reminds  me  strongly  of 
her." 

Laurence  was  looking  wide-eyed  at  him.  Was  Mar- 
guerite de  Plenhoel  going  to  pursue  her  even  here?  Ex- 
tremely vexed,  she  curtly  retorted: 

"You  are  lyrical  enough,  I  assure  you,  to  suit  any 
taste,  even  the  famous  'Gamin's'!" 

Salvieres  twirled  the  ends  of  his  mustache  with  a  fa- 
miliar gesture.  He  felt  annoyed,  not  only  on  account 
of  the  slighting  reference  to  Marguerite,  not  only  be- 
cause he  was  not  accustomed  to  be  spoken  to  in  that 
peevish  manner,  but  because  he  was  becoming  aware  of 
a  decided  sense  of  disquiet  concerning  Basil's  future  hap- 
piness— Basil,  who  was  as  near  and  dear  to  him  as  if  he 
had  been  his  blood  brother.  Jean  de  Salvieres  had  not 
expected  to  find  in  the  twenty-year-old  bride  of  his 

122 


MOONGLADE 

brother-in-law — who  had  been  described  to  him  as  a 
well-born  beauty — so  pert  and  altogether  uninhabitable 
a  nature.  Beautiful  she  certainly  was — of  that  there 
could  not  be  the  faintest  doubt — but  her  self-assertion, 
her  cutting  way  of  saying  things,  and  her  lack  of  punc- 
tilio, did  not  impress  him  as  befitting  so  young  a  woman, 
and  once  again  he  tugged  impatiently  at  his  mustache. 
He  was  too  frank  to  attempt  playing  her  at  the  end  of  a 
line  with  the  cunning  and  savoir-faire  of  an  angler  (al- 
though this  would  have  been  easy  enough  to  him)  in 
order  to  pry  more  deeply  into  her  character.  Moreover, 
she  repelled  him.  If  he  liked  a  person  he  showed  it  at 
once;  if  he  disliked  one,  he  made  a  point  of  having  noth- 
ing more  to  do  with  him  or  with  her;  but  here  was  a 
problem  not  soluble  by  either  plan;  for  he  could  neither 
ignore  her  nor  cast  her  aside,  owing  to  many  reasons, 
chief  among  which  was  the  dawning  conviction  that  in 
Basil's  interest  it  would  be  well  if  he  followed  up  Lau- 
rence a  little,  helped  her  if  he  could,  advised  her,  cer- 
tainly. 

He  and  his  wife  had  been  in  India  on  a  pleasure  trip 
at  the  time  of  the  marriage,  and  his  surprise  at  what  he 
now  discovered  was  painful. 

' '  The  famous  '  Gamin ' !"  he  said,  speculatively .  ' '  Why 
famous?  Has  that  dear  little  thing  rendered  herself 
guilty  of  any  more  heroic  deeds  since  I  last  had  the 
happiness  of  seeing  her?" 

"Heroic  deeds?  I  was  not  aware  she  dealt  in  that 
sort  of  thing!"  said  Laurence,  who  for  so  lofty  a  soul  was 
now  within  measurable  distance  of  snappishness,  and  she 
looked  at  Salvi£res  with  a  severity  indicative  of  an  in- 
tention to  keep  him  strictly  in  his  place.  Yet  had  she 
taken  the  trouble  to  do  so,  she  might  have  realized  that 
she  sat  in  the  presence  of  that  rare  and  indefinable  crea- 
tion— a  strong  man,  whom  no  feminine  trickery  could 
find  at  any  moment  off  his  guard. 

123 


MOONGLADE 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  quietly  replied.  "She  fre- 
quently, on  the  contrary,  deals  in  such  things.  Only  a 
few  months  ago  she  jumped  into  the  sea  from  a  high 
rock — a  very  high  rock,  understand — to  save  from  drown- 
ing a  silly  gawk  of  a  ship's  boy.  Half  a  gale  was  blowing 
at  the  time,  and  it  was  something  more  than  a  man's 
ordinary  risk  for  her  to  take." 

Laurence's  eyelids  fluttered,  but  she  did  not  actually 
raise  her  eyes  to  the  uncomfortable  neighbor  whose  sim- 
ple directness  of  speech  found  no  favor  in  her  sight. 

"Really!"  she  remarked.     "I  never  heard  of  it!" 

"It  is  your  loss  then,  madame,  and  I  am  glad  to  have 
been  so  fortunate  as  to  repair  this  lack  of  knowledge  on 
your  part." 

She  made  a  grimace  expressive  of  real  annoyance.  "I 
am  not  much  of  a  gossip,"  she  shrugged,  "and  therefore 
never  greatly  given  to  listen  to  it." 

"That  being  the  case,"  retorted  Salvieres,  "we  may 
remain  hopeful  that  this  will  go  no  further.  Good  actions 
are  best  left  out  of  general  conversation,  excepting  in 
such  particular  cases  as  this  one.  They  are  so  seldom 
credited."  [  "  Why  in  the  world  does  she  hate  the  'Gam- 
in'?" he  was  asking  himself.  "What  has  the  poor  child 
done  to  her?"] 

"You  seem  very  fond  of  Marguerite  de  Plenhoel?" 
Laurence  remarked.  "Everybody  I  know  appears  to 
have  some  weakness  or  other  for  her,  and  yet  she  is  really 
nothing  extraordinary!" 

"Perhaps  that  might  explain  it,"  he  said.  "You  see, 
she  is  simplicity  itself,  without  pose  of  any  sort,  but  also 
very  bright  and  clever;  also  she  is  gay  and  brave — Heaven 
help  her!" 

"If  she  is  all  that,  why  should  Heaven  need  to  inter- 
fere?" 

Salvieres  was  again  thoughtfully  twisting  his  mus- 
tache. Decidedly  this  new  relative  of  his  was  not  in> 

124 


MOONGLADE 

proving  on  better  acquaintance.  Unhappy  Basil !  When 
the  scales — thick  as  window-shutters  he  was  forced  to 
believe — fell  from  his  eyes,  what  would  he  do? 

"Heaven,"  he  said,  slowly,  "must  always  interfere 
with  its  own,  although  God  forbid  that  I  should  attempt 
to  explain  to  you  the  ways  of  Providence." 

"You  evidently  consider  Marguerite  an  angel,  then?" 
Laurence  queried,  in  an  odd  voice. 

"Oh,  by  no  means!  She  has  faults,  great  faults,  not 
the  least  of  them  being  her  over-confidence  in  others." 

"You  know  her  very  well,  I  suppose?" 

"As  well  as  one  knows  a  creature  one  has  carried  about 
in  one's  arms  before  it  could  walk,"  he  acquiesced. 

"As  long  as  that?  I  heard  that  you  were  personally 
related  to  her,  but  not  very  closely." 

"She  is  my  niece,  a  la  mode  de  Bretagne  par  alliance" 
he  explained. 

"Oh,  that  accounts  for  your  enthusiasm,  I  suppose," 
Laurence  proposed,  with  a  pale  smile.  "One  is  apt  to 
be  more  or  less  proud  of  what  belongs  to  one,  whether  par 
alliance  or  otherwise." 

"  Not  always !' '  he  vigorously  rejoined.  "Ah !  Sapristi! 
Not  always,  I  assure  you!  (Can  she  be  stupid  into  the 
bargain?"  he  mused.  "That  would  be  a  superfetation 
of  calamities!")  And  as  Countess  Chouroff  was  rising,  he 
pushed  back  his  chair  and  drew  Laurence's  out  of  the  way 
of  her  train,  while  she  moved  at  his  side  with  that  subtle 
rustle  of  superfine  silken  linings  that  conveys  even  to  the 
dullest  masculine  mind  an  especial  care  for  dress  and  the 
wisdom  of  dealing  with  a  great  couturier. 

In  any  other  case,  Salvieres  could  in  all  probability 
have  dismissed  from  his  mind  the  thoroughly  disagree- 
able quarter  of  an  hour  he  had  just  passed,  but  this  was 
impossible  for  him  to  do.  His  keen  eyes  unrolled  be- 
fore him  a  long  and  dark  array  of  eminently  unpleas- 
ant possibilities,  not  concerning  him  or  his  wife,  pre- 

125 


MOONGLADE 

cisely,  and  yet  liable  to  make  things  a  bit  dreary  for 
both  of  them. 

"How  do  you  like  her?" 

The  question  took  him  by  surprise  as  he  was  escaping 
from  the  concert-room,  to  which  the  Countess's  guests 
were  being  marshaled,  and,  turning  quickly,  he  found 
his  brother-in-law  at  his  elbow. 

"Like  whom?"  he  demanded,  eager  to  gain  time. 

"Why,  my  wife,  of  course!"  Basil  answered.  "I  saw 
you  chatting  nineteen  to  the  dozen  with  her,  until  the 
end  of  the  Pantagruelian  feast  Madame  Chouroff  eu- 
phemistically calls  a  simple  little  dinner." 

"She  is  remarkably  beautiful,"  Salvieres  sincerely  ap- 
proved. "Indeed,  I  find  that  the  portraits  you  sent  us 
were  far  from  doing  her  justice." 

Curiously  enough,  this  time  Basil  did  not  flush  with 
gratification,  as  when  Regis  de  Plenhoel  had  been  the 
appraiser;  instead,  an  almost  worried  expression  overcast 
his  features. 

"Come  here,  Jean!"  he  said,  drawing  Salvieres  into 
the  billiard-room,  which  was  entirely  unoccupied  at  the 
moment,  and  both  men  seated  themselves  upon  a  broad, 
mellow  divan  far  away  from  the  central  hanging-lamps. 

"I  don't  wish,"  Basil  said  at  once,  "simply  to  know 
how  you  like  Laurence's  looks — that  is  not  necessary. 
I  am  anxious — very  anxious  to  hear  what  else  you  have 
to  say  about  her.  Between  you  and  me  there  has  always 
existed  a  sympathy  and  a  comprehension  greater  than 
ordinary  camaraderie,  and  that  is  why  I  don't  scruple  to 
question  you  as  I  do.  What  do  you  think  of  Laurence, 
and  what  do  you  think  Tatiana  will  think  of  her — which," 
he  concluded,  "makes  many  'thinks'  in  one  request." 

"Plain  speaking  and  clear  understanding.  An  ex- 
change without  robbery!  Eh?" 

"Exactly!" 

"Humm  .  .  .  m!  I  wonder  if  in  this  all-blessed  corner 

126 


MOONGLADE 

I  could  venture  to  light  my  pipe?"  And  Salvteres  peeped 
cautiously  round  the  open  panel  of  the  door.  "There's 
nobody  about,  as  far  as  I  can  see,"  he  laughed,  "and  you 
know  that  I  do  not  consider  digestion  perfect  without  a 
few  whiffs  of  my  trusty  briar."  He  was  watching  Basil 
covertly  as  he  spoke,  and  was  somewhat  relieved  to  see 
the  strained  expression  of  his  eyes  relax  a  little. 

"I  know.  You're  lucky  that  Tatiana  does  not  object 
to  such  a  pernicious  habit,"  he  interposed;  "but  there 
is  nothing  to  'oxidize'  here,  fortunately." 

"Your  sister,"  the  Duke  averred,  "is  too  fine  a  woman 
to  object  to  anything  I  fancy.  She's  true  blue,  like  all 
the  Palitzins.  But  what's  that  you  were  saying  about 
oxidizing?" 

"Nothing!  Nothing!  I  was  thinking  of  something 
else,"  Basil  hastily  rejoined,  repressing  his  untimely 
flash  of  memory,  as  he  continually  repressed  similar  ones. 
"Light  your  pipe  first,  and  answer  my  question  as  soon 
as  you  have  satisfied  your  brutal  instincts,"  he  concluded, 
with  a  praiseworthy  effort  at  banter. 

"Your  question?  Oh!  Yes,  of  course!"  dallied  Sal- 
vieres.  "Well,  it  is  not  possible  for  me  to  give  you  a 
very  complete  opinion  after  ten  minutes'  conversation 
with  a  lovely  woman,  my  dear  Basil.  It  is  too  large  an 
order  for  yours  truly." 

He  gave  a  wave  of  the  hand  descriptive  of  intricate 
complexities  ad  infinitum,  and,  deliberately  leaning  back 
on  the  luxurious  cushions  of  the  divan,  began  to  puff  at 
his  trusty  briar. 

'Nevertheless,"  Basil  said,  frowning,  "if  you  had 
something  agreeable  to  say,  you  wouldn't  need  half  a 
dozen  personal  interviews  to  do  so.  It  is  first  impressions 
that  count." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!"  Salvieres  contradicted.  "Were  you 
to  ask  my  opinion  of  a  passer-by — Lord,  I  hope  there  is 
nobody  around" — he  interrupted  himself,  glancing  at  his 

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MOONGLADE 

pipe  with  mock  apprehension — "I  would  satisfy  your 
curiosity  at  once;  but  when  it  comes  to  passing  judgment 
upon  so  considerable  a  personage  as  the  Princess  Basil 
Palitzin,  my  sister-in-law  and  your  wife,  words  become 
momentous;  although  this  does  not  exclude  my  assuring 
you  that  I  found  her  interesting  beyond  all  expression!" 

Basil,  who  was  smoking  a  cigarette — a  dainty  Russian 
affair  all  white  and  gold,  and  long,  hard  mouthpiece — 
brusquely  threw  it  into  an  ash-tray. 

"I  am  glad  you  found  her  interesting,"  he  put  in,  with 
averted  eyes,  "but  there  are  a  good  many  ways  of  being 
interesting.  Why  don't  you  speak  out?  Surely  it  is 
natural  for  me  to  ask  you  how  you  like  my  wife!" 

Salvieres  sat  suddenly  up,  drew  his  long  legs  under 
him  tailor  fashion,  and  stared  at  his  friend  and  brother, 
rocking  softly  backward  and  forward  as  he  did  so. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  he  said  at  last,  "of  course  it  is  natural, 
but  I  cannot  understand  why  you  seem  so  worried  about 
my  opinion.  I  have  just  told  you  that  I  find  your  wife 
both  surpassingly  beautiful  and  extremely  interesting. 
What  more  can  I  say  &  premiere  me?" 

Basil  took  a  fresh  cigarette,  lighted  it  from  the  still 
burning  stump  on  the  tray,  and  gazed  for  a  moment  at 
the  ends  of  his  pumps,  as  though  noticing  something 
amiss  with  those  irreproachable  articles  of  footwear. 

"Do  you  think,"  he  suddenly  asked,  with  apparent 
irrelevance,  "that  perhaps  I  did  a  foolish,  an  unwise,  or 
even  a  cruel  thing  in  separating  her  from  her  friends,  her 
country,  her  pleasures,  and  in  bringing  her  to  live  at 
Tverna?" 

"A  woman  shall  forsake  her  family,  her  land,  and  her 
own  surroundings,  to  cleave  to  her  husband,  quoth  Holy 
Scripture!"  Salvieres  pronounced,  severely. 

"It  does  nothing  of  the  kind!  It  is  the  other  way 
about.  It  is  the  husband  who  is  particularly  men- 
tioned," Basil  contradicted,  unable  to  repress  a  smile, 

128 


MOONGLADE 

"Oh!  It  works  both  ways  undoubtedly!  Behold  me, 
who  spend  nearly  the  half  of  every  year  over  here. 
Besides,  not  being  me,  or  an  Irishman,  I  presume  it  isn't 
your  intention  to  become  an  absentee  landlord?" 

"No,  naturally  not,  but  I  do  not  think  Laurence  likes 
Russia.  She  does  not  complain,  you  understand,  but  I 
cannot  help  noticing — " 

"I  believe  you,  my  boy,"  commented  Salvieres,  in- 
wardly. And  then  as  the  pause  threatened  to  draw  to 
an  embarrassing  length,  he  quietly  remarked:  "She'll 
get  used  to  the  change  after  a  while,  never  fear.  Women 
are  eminently  adaptable,  and,  given  the  merely  nominal 
duties  she  will  encounter,  and  the  enormous  advantages 
that  will  counterbalance  these,  you  ought  not  to  worry 
yourself  about  the  result!" 

"But  that  is  just  the  devil  of  it!"  Basil  exclaimed. 
"She  does  not  understand  those  duties  you  are  pleased 
to  call  nominal,  but  are  as  a  matter  of  fact  very  serious. 
She's  afraid — I  honestly  believe — of  the  people!  You 
see,  she  has  heard  all  her  life  in  England  that  we  Russians 
are  a  bloodthirsty,  violent  race,  capable  of  any  evil;  so 
what  will  you  ?  Poor  child,  the  isolation,  perhaps  even  the 
'  grandeur '  of  her  new  position,  are  weighing  upon  her!" 

"Nonsense!  Who's  afraid?"  Salvieres  said,  with  some 
irritation.  "She,  the  daughter  of  a  line  of  sailors  and 
soldiers,  the  granddaughter  of  that  old  fire-eater,  Admiral 
Seton,  the  'Orror  of  the  Horient — as  they  nicknamed  him 
at  Alexandria!  Bah!  Try  and  make  some  one  else  be- 
lieve that!" 

"Physically  afraid,  of  course  not!  Morally  afraid, 
yes!"  asserted  Basil,  straightening  himself.  "We  are 
having  some  little  trouble  over  at  Tverna  just  now,  as 
you  know;  a  mere  trifle  not  worthy  of  serious  considera- 
tion; but,  strangely  enough,  it  makes  her  nervous.  She 
has  not  caught  on  since  our  arrival  there.  Imagine,  she 
considered  it  quite  improper  when  old  General  Hiltrdw 

129 


MOONGLADE 

knelt  on  the  threshold  of  the  drawing-room  and  kissed 
her  hands  in  greeting,  awaiting  the  kiss  on  the  brow  that 
is  customary  here,  though  I  had  warned  her  of  all  these 
things.  The  people  all  and  sundry  were  ready  enough 
to  prostrate  themselves  at  her  feet,  but" — he  hesitated, 
cleared  his  throat,  and  glanced  appealingly  at  his  rela- 
tive— "but,"  he  continued,  seeing  Salvi£res  raise  his 
shoulders  ever  so  slightly, "  but  she  drew  away  from  them 
— no,  I  don't  quite  mean  that — rather  she  showed  her — 
— her  indifference — a  little  too  plainly.  For  instance,  she 
takes  no  interest  in  the  sick,  the  ailing,  the  unhappy;  she 
never  sets  foot  in  an  isba;  she  has  handed  over  the  key 
of  the  pharmacy  to  the  housekeeper,  a  thing  never  heard 
of  in  mother's  time;  and  when  the  land-steward  or  the 
starostd  come  in  quest  of  remedies,  delicacies,  or  any  of 
the  many  comforts  we  always  provide,  she  sends  them 
word  that  she  does  not  know  what  they  want — which  is 
true  enough,  of  course — and  that  they  must  not  bother 
her." 

"You  should  teach  her  to  do  better!"  Salvieres  haz- 
arded. 

"But — my  dear  fellow,"  Basil  began,  "I  am  not  in- 
clined to  make  her  life  here  a  misery." 

"Then  don't  complain,"  was  the  cool  rejoinder.  "Let 
her  have  her  head;  bid  her  amuse  herself  in  her  own  way, 
encourage  her  to  see  and  receive  people  of  her  own  choice, 
and  thereby  obtain  peace — that  most  desirable  of  pos- 
sessions!" 

"It  is  not  everybody's  privilege,  after  all,  to  know  by 
instinct  how  to  treat  the  lower  classes,"  Basil  said,  ir- 
ritably, "or  to  become  popular,  and  to  find  the  secret  of 
assuring  a  number  of  unprepossessing  and  almost  total 
strangers  that  one  remembers  them  individually  and  per- 
fectly!" 

"Yet  that  is  just  what  we  must  do,  if  we  seek  popu- 
larity. Besides  which  popularity  means — plus  a  cruel 

130 


MOONGLADE 

strain  on  the  digestive  organs — a  deep  pocket — which  your 
wife  fortunately  has — and  the  patience  of  an  archangel 
— although  Archangel  Michael  does  not  give  the  im- 
pression of  extreme  longanimity.  Neither  does  your  wife, 
if  I  judge  her  aright." 

"There's  no  earthly  use  in  joking,  Jean!  Try  and  help 
me,  rather,  for,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I'm  a  little  at  a  loss 
what  to  do.  If  I  yield  to  her  unspoken  wishes,  and  take 
her  away,  it  means  utter  ruin  to  all  my  plans,  my  pro- 
jects, and  also  to  the  welfare  of  my  people.  And  if  I 
do  not  yield — " 

"Don't  yield  on  that  point,  Basil!"  Salvi&res  quickly 
interrupted.  "  Don't  take  her  away.  It  won't  do.  No, 
certainly  not;  it  won't  do,  for  her,  for  you,  or  for  them." 

"I  know;  I  feel  just  as  you  do  about  it,  but  what  then?" 

Salvidres  gave  a  sharp  sigh,  then  he  laughed;  but  his 
laugh  was  not  easy,  and  at  last  he  spread  out  both  arms 
in  a  gesture  almost  of  discouragement. 

"You  are  letting  yourself  be  driven  into  an  -impasse, 
my  dear  Basil,"  he  said,  gravely.  "A  very  dangerous 
proceeding.  You  ask  me  to  help  you.  You  know  that 
I'm  only  too  ready  to  do  so.  But  how  the  deuce  am  I 
to  get  about  it?  Let  me  see.  How  long  have  you  been 
at  Tverna  now?" 

"A  little  over  two  months." 

"That  all!  Well,  you  surely  did  not  expect  a  mondaine 
like  your  wife  to  get  accustomed  to  your  citadel  in  so 
short  a  time.  Still,  what  do  you  say  to  Tatiana  and  my- 
self coming  to  stay  for  a  couple  of  weeks  or  so  with  you? 
Tatiana  is  the  most  capable  manager  ever  created  for  the 
joy  of  this  world,  and  her  advice  might  work  wonders. 
She  is  to  the  manner  born,  and  I  think  she  wouldn't  mind 
teaching  your  beautiful  Laurence  how  to  go  about  it  on 
an  estate  as  large  and  difficult  to  rule  as  a  whole  province." 

Basil  turned  upon  Salvieres  a  pair  of  rather  hopeless 
eyes. 

131 


MOONGLADE 

"Do  you  think  they  would  go  well  in  double  harness, 
those  two?"  he  asked,  diffidently.  "Besides,  Laurence  is 
a  little  impatient  of  advice." 

Sal vieres  reflected  before  replying.  "I  dare  say!  And 
whether  she  would  get  along  with  Tatiana — that's  the 
question!"  He  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  cold  pipe, 
and  thoughtfully  replaced  this  object  of  his  affections  in 
its  chamois-lined  etui.  "I  bought  this  delightful  article 
on  the  Jarozolimska  in  Warsaw,"  he  casually  remarked, 
"where  it  is  claimed  that  the  shops  are  better  than  in 
Paris.  Lord!  Moreover,  the  man  who  sold  it  to  me 
said,  with  a  lugubrious  grin  on  his  foolish  Teutonic  face, 
that  this  was  the  finest  pipe  ever  made;  and  he  was  right, 
curiously  enough,  for  I  never  had  a  better  one.  How- 
ever, to  return  to  our  muttons,  or  rather  to  our  lambkins: 
I'm  afraid,  Basil,  that  perhaps  you  are  by  way  of  build- 
ing molehills  into  very  tall  mountains.  You  would 
scarcely  have  enjoyed  a  strong-minded,  assertive  wife — 
a  leader  at  home  and  afield,  violently  interested  in  poli- 
tics of  every  caliber,  a  platform  orator,  bowing  from  the 
waist  up  to  admiring  multitudes — i.  e.,  the  sort  that  so 
many  unfortunate  husbands  are  trying  to  get  used  to 
nowadays." 

Basil  could  not  restrain  a  laugh.  "My  dear  fellow," 
he  said,  "I  do  not  ask  so  much.  You  know  very  well 
that  I  consider  men  who  help  women  to  make  fools  of 
themselves  unmanly  crawlers.  But  between  that  and 
complete  indifference  to  the  masses — since  you  force  me 
to  adopt  that  jargon — there  is  a  yawning  gulf." 

"I  dare  say,"  Salvi£res  was  beginning,  when  Countess 
Chour6ff's  deep  bass  made  itself  heard  at  the  door,  and 
that  lady,  followed  by  four  yards  of  purple-velvet  dra- 
peries, advanced  into  the  room  and  faced  the  two  ab- 
sconders. 

"I  have  lived  for  years,"  she  exclaimed,  "under  the  im- 
pression that  I  saw  in  you  gentlemen  an  overworked  Rus- 

132 


MOONGLADE 

sian  proprietor  and  a  French  Seigneur,  overworked  also, 
but  in  wifely  interests.  I  apologize  for  my  mistake;  you 
are  merely  a  couple  of  idlers,  confirmed  in  that  same  la- 
mentable sloth  that  enables  men  of  the  south  to-  do 
nothing,  very  gracefully,  for  long  hours  at  a  time." 

"What  procures  us  this  withering  indictment?"  Sal- 
vi6res  protested,  laughing.  "Remember,  dear  lady,  that 
it  is  months — months  since  the  rights  of  brotherhood 
have  been  exercised  between  Basil  and  myself!  Would 
you  proscribe  them  beneath  your  hospitable  roof?" 

"And  what  about  the  rights  of  my  guests  to  the  com- 
panionship of  the  two  most  important  and — let  me  add — 
the  two  most  agreeable  personalities  beneath  the  roof 
you  invoke?"  she  replied,  with  spirit.  "Give  me  your 
arm,  Salvieres;  and  as  to  you,  Basil -Vassilidvitch,  seek 
the  protection  of  your  own  wife  from  the  ides  of  my 
wrath.  She  is  looking  for  you,  anyhow,"  she  concluded, 
returning  to  a  simpler  form  of  address. 

"Salvieres,"  she  ruefully  whispered  in  the  ducal  ear 
almost  on  a  level  with  her  mouth — for  she  was  a  remark- 
ably tall  woman — "that  young  and  strangely  disquieting 
couple  need  watching,  or  we  will  see  them  upset  by  the 
roadside." 

Salvieres  started  a  little  and  stared  surprisedly  at  her. 

"What  makes  you  think  that?"  he  asked,  irritably, 
for  his  nerves  were  beginning  to  be  jangled. 

"Intuition,  assisted  by  clear  sight  and  miles  of  ex- 
perience," she  said,  gravely.  "That  sweet  girl  in  there," 
and  she  pointed  to  the  buzzing  drawing-room — which 
she  often  playfully  alluded  to  as  the  sala-del-trono,  be- 
cause it  was  only  thrown  open  on  solemn  occasions — "has 
been  purposely  created  to  cause  the  downfall  of  great 
and  good  men.  'Remember  what  I  say.  Some  day,  per- 
haps not  so  very  distant,  you'll  find  that  I'm  no  idle 
prophet," 


CHAPTER  XI 

My  house  and  all  it  holds  is  thine, 

But  your  deeds  shall  be  no  guests  of  mine. 

TVERNA,  izth  of  May. 

MY  DEAR  REGIS, — I  must  apologize,  and  apologize  humbly, 
for  not  having  answered  your  letter  sooner.  To  tell  you  the 
truth,  we  have  "enjoyed" — as  your  Breton  peasants  say — some 
rather  unquiet  times  here.  When  we  first  came,  as  you  know, 
I  found  my  "vassals"  a  trifle  out  of  hand,  but,  after  all,  very  rea- 
sonably so.  Unfortunately  the  spirit  of  the  age — or  whatever 
you  call  it — has  never  ceased  seeping  through  our  marches — I 
should  say  marshes,  the  season  being  peculiarly  rainy — and  thus 
has  my  time  been  strenuously  taken  up  by  what  I  may  term 
salvage-work,  to  the  almost  complete  exclusion  of  any  pleas- 
anter  occupation — this,  of  course,  includes  writing  to  those  I 
love.  In  spite  of  the  above-mentioned  drawbacks,  I  am  hale 
and  hearty  enough — that  is  to  say  that  the  years  have  not  as 
yet  left  a  serious  mark  upon  me!  Of  course  it  is  a  great  dep- 
rivation to  abandon  the  sojourns  abroad  I  used  to  delight  in, 
but  you  see  there  is  no  choice  in  the  matter.  We  spend  a  month 
or  two  every  season  in  the  Crimea,  where  the  estates,  of  course, 
also  demand  the  weary  and  wary  eye  of  the  master,  but  this 
cannot  veraciously  be  described  as  a  vacation,  since  work,  work, 
work,  is  the  keynote  of  my  stay  there.  I  wish  I  could  have  in- 
duced you  to  stop  with  us  for  a  few  weeks  at  least,  during  your 
trip  around  the  world.  How  interested  my  cousin  Marguerite 
must  have  been  by  this  charming  voyage.  I  hope  she  is  well, 
and  you  also,  my  good  Re"gis.  Has  she  outgrown  the  "Gamin" 
stage?  I  can  scarcely  believe  it  of  her — she  is  so  essentially  and 
delightfully  young.  And  now  I  come  to  the  heart  of  my  letter, 
as  it  were.  Laurence  has  for  a  long  time,  I  fear,  been  homesick — 

134 


MOONGLADE 

I  believe  she  never  was  anything  else — as  it  is  quite  natural  she 
should  be,  at  so  grim  a  distance  from  her  own  country.  She  is 
planning  an  expedition  to  the  banks  of  the  Thames,  and  I  would 
willingly  accompany  her,  but  duty  forbids  so  unlandlordly  a 
thought,  and  so  she  will  probably  travel  with  Tatiana  and  Sal- 
vieres,  arriving  in  "Europe" — she  insists  that  Russia  is  in  no 
wise  included  in  that  division  of  the  globe — some  time  in  late 
June.  After  much  reflection  I  have  decided  to  let  the  boy  ac- 
company his  mother,  in  the  care  of  his  mania,  who  has  my  abso- 
lute confidence.  My  occupations  are  such  that  I  could  not  be 
much  with  him  during  Laurence's  absence.  I  am  not  certain 
whether  a  sojourn  in  England  would  suit  him.  He  is,  as  you 
know,  my  treasure  of  treasures,  and  since  you  tell  me  that  you 
intend  leaving  Paris  for  Plenhoel  in  June,  could  I,  upon  the 
strength  of  our  long  and  loyal  friendship,  venture  to  impose  yet 
another  duty  upon  you?  Perhaps  you  will  think  it  pleasant. 
You  are  so  kind-hearted.  It  is,  namely,  to  accept  my  little 
Piotr  as  your  guest,  or  rather  charge,  while  Laurence  visits  her 
friends.  The  niania  and  my  faithful  old  Garrassime,  who  never 
leaves  him,  will  be  responsible  for  his  behavior.  Am  I  too  in- 
discreet? I  think  not,  provided  my  cousin  Marguerite  pleads 
my  cause  with  you.  Tell  her  that  I  send  Piotr  to  her  as  a  little 
messenger  from  afar,  a  playfellow,  or  a  toy,  according  to  choice. 
He  is  very  advanced  for  his  age  (all  paternal  pride  laid  aside), 
even  too  much  so — which  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  think  that 
a  thorough  change  will  be  good  for  him — very  advanced  indeed, 
and  sometimes  preternaturally  solemn,  as  his  eminently  Slav 
nature  inclines  him  to  be,  not  to  mention  some  decidedly  British 
and  splenetic  strain,  inherited,  doubtless,  from  some  maternal 
ancestor  or  other. 

I  am  waiting  your  reply  very  anxiously,  and  remain,  my  dear 
Re"gis,  Your  devoted  friend  and  cousin, 

BASIL. 

Marguerite,  curled  up  on  an  uncompromisingly  bamboo 
lounge  in  the  flower-gallery  of  the  H6tel  de  Plenhoel — 
where  five  years  before  she  had  bidden  Basil  farewell — 
was  reading  for  the  tenth  time  at  least  Basil's  letter,  re- 
ceived some  days  before.  Her  father  had  answered  it 


MOONGLADE 

by  return  post — of  course  in  the  affirmative — and  ever 
since  then  Marguerite  had  been  preparing  to  receive  her 
youthful  guest. 

At  twenty-one  the  "Gamin"  was  still  the  "Gamin"  of 
yore.  To  the  eye  she  had  not  changed  at  all,  yet  she 
was  more  than  ever  the  "Moonglade"  of  her  cousin's 
fancy,  by  right  of  some  quality  as  apparent  as  the  path 
of  its  transmission  to  the  observer  was  obscure.  She  was 
the  picture  of  ethereal  health — if  one  may  thus  express 
oneself — so  delicately  tinted  was  her  little  person,  so 
gravely  sweet  her  eyes.  The  rose  hue  of  her  skin  was  the 
exact  color  of  those  tiny  waxen  blossoms  the  Bretons  call 
fleurs-de- Jesus,  that  have  but  the  very  faintest  hint  of  a 
blush  beneath  their  white  surface.  Her  hair  was  the 
same  pale-golden  nimbus  as  when  she  left  her  convent, 
but  she  wore  it  differently  now — more  smoothly  coiled 
around  her  small  head.  In  one  word,  there  was  about 
her  a  sort  of  crystalline  aureole  that  set  her  apart  from 
other  beings.  "Antinoiis,"  if  questioned,  would  have  as- 
serted—and with  truth — that  she  was  the  "jolliest  little 
chap"  in  creation,  though  a  finer  observer  might  have 
maintained  that  her  laughter  was  often  from  the  lips 
only  and  not  from  the  eyes — those  eyes  that  at  this 
moment,  while  she  was  alone  with  Basil's  letter,  were  not 
entirely  dry.  Once  or  twice  she  breathed  quickly,  im- 
patiently, as  she  thought  of  all  that  had  happened.  In- 
deed, the  past  years  had  sometimes  been  hard  to  get 
through  with.  She  knew  without  the  possibility  of  a 
doubt  that  Basil  was  not  happy.  She  had  never  been  told 
so,  but,  nevertheless,  she  knew!  Had  it  been  otherwise 
the  "Gamin,"  the  gay  and  brave  according  to  Jean  de 
Salvieres,  would  have  felt  differently,  and  accepted  life 
and  its  burdens  easily  enough.  Unfortunately,  it  cost  her, 
in  the  light  of  this  intuitive  knowledge,  a  good  deal  of 
energy  to  do  so,  and  her  oft-repeated  silent  vows  to  think 
no  more  about  it  were  writ  in  water. 

136 


MOONGLADE 

She  was  looking  forward  with  suppressed  delight  to 
the  arrival  of  Piotr.  Was  he  like  his  father,  or  his  beauti- 
ful mother?  she  wondered.  Marguerite  adored  children — 
especially  little  boys — and  here  again  she  was  swayed  by 
a  clear-sightedness  far  beyond  her  age,  for  the  modern 
little  girl  did  not  please  her,  less  because  of  what  they 
really  are  than  on  account  of  what  they  are  bound  to 
become  —  pleasure-loving,  noisy,  untutored  beings,  now 
that  the  wholesome  principles  of  other  times  have  been 
trampled  under  foot,  and  the  fad  for  feminine  "emanci- 
pation" has  become  the  most  dangerous  craze  the  world 
has  ever  known. 

The  H6tel  de  Plenhoel  was  en  fete,  and  decked  with 
flowers  as  for  some  royal  reception;  toys  of  superfine 
quality  and  astounding  quantity  were  piled  up  in  Mar- 
guerite's personal  salon  to  greet  the  baby  prince,  and  all 
the  morning  Marguerite  herself  had  flitted  to  and  fro, 
up  and  down  stairs,  to  arrange  and  prepare. 

In  an  hour  she  would  be  with  her  father  at  the  terminus, 
awaiting  the  private  car  attached  to  the  express  bringing 
Laurence  and  her  suite,  Piotr  and  his  own.  How  large 
and  magnificent  that  sounded!  She  suddenly  laughed, 
pocketed  Basil's  epistle,  and  jumped  to  her  feet,  ready 
for  action.  "Poor  little  boy!"  she  mechanically  mur- 
mured. "I  must  hurry!"  But  why  poor?  She  could 
not  have  said  why,  though  instinctively  she  pitied  the 
child — and  pity  is  akin  to  love. 

In  her  fresh  summer  frock  of  white  pique,  a  white- 
banded  sailor-hat  on  her  golden  locks  that  seemed  to 
shine  as  through  a  wash  of  silver,  a  knot  of  Malmaison 
carnations  thrust  through  her  waist-ribbon,  she  looked 
indeed  exquisitely  young  as  she  stood  beside  "Anti- 
nous,"  inside  the  station.  He,  too,  had  not  altered,  and 
was  still  the  beau  gar$on,  full  of  chic  and  vim,  who  con- 
quered all  hearts  at  the  point  of  his  blond  mustache. 
There  was  a  white  carnation  in  his  coat,  and  his  straw 
10  137 


MOONGLADE 

hat,  set  at  the  exactly  correct  angle,  gave  him  an  almost 
boyish  appearance. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  corridor-train  came  puffing  up 
the  shining  metals  in  the  wake  of  its  spick-and-span 
locomotive,  and  the  doors  of  the  waiting-rooms  were 
thrown  wide.  Marguerite  had  paled  a  trifle  as  she  ad- 
vanced to  the  private  car  (beside  which  now  stood  a 
Kossak  of  the  Russian  Embassy  in  his  dressing-gown  of 
a  coat,  all  brilliant  with  silver,  holding  high  his  astrakhaned 
head),  and  saw  a  graceful,  languid  figure  wrapped  in  di- 
aphanous veils,  assisted  to  alight.  Behind  her  came  the 
towering  form  of  old  Garrassime,  carrying  in  his  arms  a 
boy  of  startling  beauty.  "Antinous,"  hat  in  hand,  was 
already  bowing  before  Laurence,  who,  disentangling  a 
slim,  gloved  hand  from  her  many  dust-draperies,  allowed 
him  to  press  it  to  his  lips. 

"And  here  is  Marguerite!"  she  drawled,  as  if  surprised 
to  see  her  there.  "Grown  old  and  wise,  eh?"  she  con- 
tinued, shaking  hands  limply  and  taking  Regis's  arm. 

"How  are  you,  Laurence?"  replied  the  "Gamin," 
quietly.  "Can  I  be  of  any  use?"  She  was  burning  to 
take  hold  of  Piotr,  whose  great  dark  eyes  were  scanning 
her  from  head  to  foot,  but  she  had  long  since  learned  how 
to  restrain  her  first  impulses. 

"You  are  too  kind!"  Laurence  said,  speaking  "from 
the  top  of  the  head"  (du  haul  de  la  tete),  as  the  French  say. 
She  was  the  Princess  and  no  mistake — perhaps  even  a  lit- 
tle too  much  so — the  conventional  Princess  of  comedy 
and  fiction  as  ordinary  people  understand  her;  but,  after 
all,  a  very  gracious  presentment  thereof,  and  Marguerite 
studiously  refrained  from  smiling.  "Yes,  if  you  don't 
mind,  ma  cousine,"  Laurence  continued,  dwelling  heavily 
upon  this  badge  of  kinship.  "Tell  them  to  carry  the  boy 
to  your  carriage — you  have  one  in  waiting,  I  suppose, 
have  you  not,  Marquis?"  she  asked,  turning  to  R6gis. 
"And  since  you  are  so  kind  as  to  receive  him  and  his 

138 


MOONGLADE 

people,  I  will  only  trouble  you  to  take  me  as  far  as  the 
equipage  from  the  Embassy  that  is  here  for  me!" 

"Will  you  not  honor  us  by  residing  under  our  roof?" 
asked  Re*gis,  inwardly  wondering  how  long  he  would 
find  it  possible  to  continue  using  such  very  lofty  lan- 
guage. 

"Oh,  thanks  muchly  .  .  .  you  are  very  thoughtful; 
but  you  see  my  stay  here  will  be  but  a  few  days.  I  am 
going  on  to  London  almost  at  once.  It  would  not  be 
worth  while  disturbing  you,  and  I  assure  you  that  your 
amiability  to  the  boy  will  fully  suffice.  Besides,  I  have 
promised  their  Excellencies  Count  and  Countess  Meli- 
d6ff  to  be  their  guest.  I  was  to  have  traveled  with  my 
sister  and  brother-in-law  de  Salvieres,  and  stayed  with 
them  here;  but  at  the  last  they  altered  their  plans, 
which  altered  mine  also." 

R£gis,  snubbed  and  delighted,  was  about  to  walk  on 
with  her,  when  she  turned  her  eyes  royally  toward  the 
still-saluting  Kossak,  and  said  a  few  words  to  him  in 
vile  Russian.  The  man's  impassive  face  did  not  indicate 
comprehension,  and  to  Laurence's  evident  amazement 
Marguerite  fluently  repeated  the  order. 

"Marguerite  speaks  Russian?"  she  asked,  acidly, 
dropping  all  her  languor. 

"At  your  service,  madame,"  Re"gis  replied,  laughing. 
"And  so  do  I;  but  as  to  the  'Gamin,'  she  is  the  finest 
linguist  in  Europe,  with  all  her  little  modest  airs." 

Princess  Laurence  moved  on  in  brisker  fashion,  barely 
replying  to  Marguerite's  au  revoir,  and  then  only  did  the 
girl  turn  to  Garrassime  and  his  charge. 

"Oh,  you  beauty!"  she  said,  in  a  slightly  unsteady 
voice,  holding  out  both  arms  to  Basil's  son. 

"I'll  come  to  you,"  the  child  lisped  in  French  (much 
to  his  stalwart  attendant's  surprise,  for  he  was  not  easy), 
and  he  allowed  himself  to  be  taken  up  by  Marguerite 
and  kissed  over  and  over  again. 

139 


MOONGLADE 

Re"gis  was  already  returning,  curbing  with  considerable 
difficulty  a  violent  desire  to  laugh. 

"Qu'est-ce  qu'elle  a  cette  cruche?"  he  whispered  to  his 
daughter  as  they  settled  themselves  in  the  victoria  with 
Piotr  enthroned  between  them;  then,  noticing  the  boy's 
observant  eye,  he  continued  in  Spanish — a  language  they 
were  both  fond  of  using:  "No  wonder  Basil  writes  so 
mournfully!  Poor  devil!  Did  you  ever  see  such  insuf- 
ferable airs  as  that  girl  thinks  it  necessary  to  put  on?" 

Marguerite  gave  him  a  supremely  roguish  glance,  im- 
perceptibly raised  one  shoulder,  and  resumed  her  contem- 
plation of  the  "little  messenger  from  afar,"  whose  pres- 
ence near  her  was  such  a  pleasure,  and  who,  to  give  him 
his  due,  was  doing  everything  in  his  unconscious  power 
to  get  himself  adored  in  short  order. 

She  was  not,  however,  at  the  end  of  her  surprises,  for 
next  morning  bright  and  early,  while  superintending 
Monsieur  Piotr's  toilet,  she  received  a  hurried  scrawl 
from  Laurence's  Serene-Highness,  declining  rather  curtly 
a  formal  invitation  to  dinner  at  the  H6tel  de  Plenhoel, 
but  asking  Marguerite  if  she  could  "lend"  her  one  of  her 
salons  for  that  same  night  to  receive  a  few  intimate 
friends,  "as,"  she  ingenuously  added,  "I  will  feel  much 
freer  there  as  a  hostess  than  if  using  the  suite  placed  at 
my  disposal  by  the  Russian  Ambassador."  There  was 
not  a  word  for  or  about  Piotr,  and  the  reader's  brows  came 
rather  brusquely  together  as  she  read. 

Though  she  had  retained  all  the  untouched  innocence 
of  a  highly  bred  French  girl,  Marguerite  was  no  fool,  and 
instantly  scented  something  or  other  behind  this  strangely 
worded  request  —  something  that  was  not  —  well  —  not 
quite  correct. 

"Is  the  bearer  waiting?"  she  asked  of  the  footman  at 
the  dressing-room  door. 

"Yes,  mademoiselle." 

"Tell  him  to  keep  on  waiting,  please,"  and  with  an 

140 


MOONGLADE 

excuse  to  Piotr — who  in  his  new-born  enthusiasm  was 
not  minded  to  let  her  out  of  his  sight — she  hurried  to  her 
father's  study. 

"Papa,"  she  said,  a  little  breathlessly, " here's  a  note 
from  Laurence.  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  about  it?" 

Regis  ran  his  eye  over  the  penetratingly  perfumed 
sheet,  and  said  nothing. 

"Well,"  repeated  the  "Gamin,"  "what  do  you  wish 
me  to  do,  papa?" 

"Say  yes,"  Regis  replied,  "but  understand  me,  Cheva- 
lier, you  are  under  no  circumstances  to  be  present  when 
she  comes  to-night.  Madame  Laurence  gives  me  the 
impression  of  having  become  even  something  more  of  a — 
a  difficulty  than  she  was  as  Mademoiselle  Seton!  I  will 
for  once  —  yes,  for  once  —  accept  the  responsibility  of 
what  she  calls  a  reunion  of  her  intimate  friends.  We 
shall  see,  or,  rather,  I  shall  see,  what  she  means  by  it, 
but—" 

He  impulsively  drew  his  daughter  down,  kissed  her 
very  tenderly,  and  let  her  go,  and,  smothering  an  exple- 
tive meant  for  Laurence,  subsided  into  his  arm-chair. 
After  she  had  gone  he  sat  quite  still,  plunged  in  profound 
thought,  a  most  unusual  proceeding  for  hirn.  The 
"Chevalier  Gam-in"  had  never  caused  him  one  moment's 
anxiety  since,  when  orphaned  in  her  cradle,  she  had  be- 
come his  dearest  and  most  pressing  preoccupation.  But 
just  now  he  suddenly  perceived  that  there  might  be  rocks 
ahead,  such  as  had  never  yet  disturbed  the  smooth 
current  of  his  guardianship  of  her.  Five  years  ago  her 
return  from  the  convent  had  been  an  unmixed  and  un- 
speakable joy.  Nevertheless,  had  Basil  asked  him  for 
her  hand  then,  his  great  affection  and  esteem  for  his 
kinsman,  coupled  with  a  firmly  rooted  conviction  that 
women  can  never  marry  too  young,  would  have  won  his 
consent.  Indeed,  more  than  once,  when  seeing  them  so 
completely  happy  in  each  other's  company,  he  had  deemed 

141 


MOONGLADE 

it  by  no  means  improbable  that  such  a  demand  might 
soon  be  made.  But  when  a  very  blind  Fate  ordained 
otherwise,  and  the  ever-cheerful  "Gamin"  had  remained 
to  fill  the  old  chateau  with  the  rustle  of  her  flying  skirts, 
the  music  of  her  laughter,  he  had  resolutely  dismissed 
his  guileless  dream,  and  had  been  only  too  well  content 
to  keep  with  him  this  charming  little  compagnon  de  route. 
They  had  been  thenceforth  more  like  brother  and  sister 
than  father  and  daughter.  Together  they  had  ridden 
and  driven,  yachted  and  swum,  fenced  and  shot,  and  more 
lately  they  had  undertaken  that  long  voyage  around  the 
world — not  as  globe-trotters,  bent  upon  engulfing  as  large 
a  mass  of  indigestible  and  subsequently  undigested  facts 
and  adventures  as  might  be  encompassed  during  a  breath- 
less race  against  time  and  tide,  but  as  finely  equipped 
dilettanti,  who  take  pleasure  in  lingering  over  the  savor 
of  their  every  sensation;  stopping  here  and  there  with 
album  and  palette — Marguerite  never  liked  the  merciless 
precision  of  even  the  best  photograph — pausing  a  few 
extra  days  by  the  way  to  hear  some  celebrated  musician, 
or  witness  a  characteristic  folk  fete;  losing  themselves  in 
jungles;  dallying  in  wild  regions  to  try  their  guns  at  big 
game;  and  being  received  everywhere  with  empressement 
and  "distinguished  consideration" — as  the  French  love  to 
put  it.  It  had  been  an  ideal  two  years  of  vagabondage, 
during  which  they  had  more  often  than  not  slept  under 
tents,  taken  their  meals  al  fresco,  and  sat  together  by 
camp-fires  under  the  star-sown  violet  skies  of  extraordi- 
narily lovely  regions;  always  accompanied  by  Madame 
Hortense,  as  Marguerite's  duena,  and  by  Francois,  Re"gis's 
man,  who  had  been  with  his  master  ever  since  regimental 
days  in  Algeria. 

Now  this  all-play-and-no-work  existence  had  come  to 
an  end,  much  to  their  regret,  but  they  had  many  things 
of  a  pleasant  kind  to  look  forward  to,  including  the  com- 
ing months  by  the  Breton  sea.  And,  after  all,  reflected 

142 


MOONGLADE 

Re*gis,  here  was  his  lovely  daughter  still  unwed  at  her 
majority.  She  had  calmly  and  persistently  declined  all 
offers  (and  these  had  been  many) ,  arguing  that  she  could 
never  find  a  man  worthy  of  comparison  with  her  father 
and  that  she  was  too  happy  as  she  was  to  admit  of  any 
change.  In  all  his  knowledge,  a  woman  of  his  race  had 
never  remained  single  after  seventeen,  and  he  suddenly 
drew  his  hand  across  his  forehead  as  if  to  dismiss  an  un- 
fortunate thought  buzzing  around  his  brain. 

After  a  time  he  rose  and  strode  to  one  of  the  windows 
giving  on  the  garden.  The  weather  was  admirable,  the 
sky  of  indescribable  purity,  the  huge  lindens  skirting  the 
walls  were  loaded  down  with  little  tufts  of  perfume,  and 
the  grass,  still  empearled  with  dew  where  the  sun  did  not 
strike,  was  enameled  with  scores  of  little  golden  planets — 
dandelions  defended  by  the  "Gamin,"  who  loved  them, 
from  the  gardener's  spudder — and  further  embellished  by 
a  flight  of  familiar  doves  who  lived  in  an  ivy-garlanded 
cote  near  by. 

On  the  middle  of  the  lawn  he  saw  the  "Gamin"  hold- 
ing a  flat  basket  from  which  Piotr — a  charming  little 
figure  in  his  mujik  costume,  imitated  in  white  drill,  his  tiny 
tall  boots  and  jaunty  cap — snatched  handfuls  of  crumbs 
for  the  hungry  birds.  Moodily  Re*gis  took  in  the  pretty 
scene.  Why  was  not  this  baby  his  grandson?  Why — 
now  that  he  thought  of  it — had  Basil  not  married  Mar- 
guerite instead  of  that  infernal  poseuse  of  a  Laurence? 
He  a  grandfather!  The  idea  made  him  laugh — he  felt 
so  absurdly  young — and  he  stepped  back  to  glance  at 
himself  in  a  mirror!  Slender  and  active  as  at  twenty, 
with  not  one  line  of  white  to  pale  his  corn-colored  pate, 
he  gave  no  idea  of  grandfatherly  dignity.  But,  never 
mind,  it  would  have  been  pleasant,  all  the  same,  and  he 
shrugged  an  impatient  shoulder. 

A  shriek  of  delight  from  Piotr  on  the  lawn  brought  him 
quickly  again  to  the  open  window.  The  child  was  run- 


MOONGLADE 

ning  toward  the  stooping  doves,  clapping  his  pudgy  hands 
to  frighten  them  away  from  their  breakfast,  and  Marguerite 
on  silent  feet  was  skimming  across  the  turf  after  him. 

"Naughty,  naughty  Piotr!  "  she  cried,  catching  him 
before  much  harm  was  done,  and  bearing  him  away  from 
the  whirling  flock.  "You  must  not  give  sorrow  to  the 
birds! "  ("faire  du  chagrin  aux  pet-its  oiseaux.") 

Kicking  and  struggling  vigorously,  Piotr  heeded  not  at 
all  the  wise  admonition.  "Naughty  Malou!  "  he  yelled, 
vainly  trying  to  break  her  hold.  "Naughty  Malou,  let 
Piotr  go!" 

Marguerite's  laughter  rippled  under  the  drooping  lin- 
den branches,  in  her  delight  at  the  pretty  perversion  of 
her  name. 

"No!  No!"  she  panted,  for  the  boy  was  heavy, 
"Malou  will  not  let  Piotr  go!  What  would  your  papa 
say  if  he  saw  you  frightening  my  birds,  Piotr?  What 
do  you  think?  Eh?" 

At  the  mention  of  his  father  Piotr  grew  still  and  glanced 
up  at  Marguerite  between  his  long  dark  lashes. 

"Piotr  loves  papa!"  he  stoutly  declared  in  Russian. 
"Piotr  wants  to  see  papa,  not  mamma.  Piotr  hates 
mamma!" 

"Oh,  baby!"  exclaimed  the  deeply  shocked  Mar- 
guerite. "You  mustn't  say  that!  Your  mamma  is  so 
beautiful!" 

She  had  put  him  down  on  the  gravel  walk  under  Re*gis's 
window;  but  she  did  not  see  her  father,  who  had  dropped 
the  lace  curtain  before  him.  He  was  curious  to  see  how 
this  would  end. 

"Malou  is  beautiful,  not  mamma!"  the  young  insub- 
ordinate gravely  responded,  planted  in  front  of  his  new 
passion,  both  small  fists  clenched  and  hanging  at  his 
sides.  "Mamma  scolds  Piotr  always.  Ask  Garrassime. 
Bring  him  here,  Malou;  and  ask  niania,  too!" 

Marguerite  glanced  quickly  toward  the  house.  The 

144 


MOONGLADE 

mama  (nurse)  was  not  in  sight;  but  Garrassime,  the 
ever-faithful,  who  never  remained  far  away  from  his  be- 
loved charge,  was  lurking  behind  a  clump  of  rhododen- 
drons, and  at  a  sign  from  her  advanced  and  uncovered 
his  gray  head. 

"Does  Prince  Pierre  often  talk  like  this?"  she  asked, 
rather  sadly. 

"Alas!  Your  Nobility,"  the  old  servitor  replied,  "it 
does  happen;  I  grieve  to  say.  Your  Excellency  must  par- 
don him,  he  means  no  harm.  He  does  not  understand 
what  he  says." 

Piotr,  sitting  flat  on  the  gravel,  was  engrossed  in 
manufacturing  a  miniature  mountain  with  the  end  of  a 
bit  of  stick  escaped  from  the  gardener's  rake,  and  had 
evidently  forgotten  all  about  the  discussion  in  hand. 

The  "Gamin"  smiled  up  at  Garrassime  in  the  fashion 
which  invariably  enslaved  all  beholders.  "Oh!"  she  said, 
half-voicedly — she  did  not  want  Piotr  to  hear.  "  I  did  not 
mean  it  as  a  reproach,  Garrassime,  but  does  not  your 
mistress  resent  such  sayings?" 

The  old  man  raised  his  eyes  imploringly  to  the  blue 
sky  above.  "When  she  hears!  When  she  hears!"  he 
murmured.  "But  The  Illustrious  sees  little  of  the  boy, 
Your  Nobility.  He  is  mostly  with  the  Prince  at  home, 
or  with  me  or  his  niania.  He  is  a  noble  child,  but  viva- 
cious and  fond  of  his  own  way." 

"I  see!"  comprehended  Marguerite.  "He  is  very  win- 
some, very  handsome.  Do  you  think,  Garrassime,  that 
he  will  not  pine  for  his  father?" 

The  servitor  of  the  House  of  Palitzin  for  forty  loyal 
years  looked  steadily  at  his  master's  young  cousin  and 
nodded  his  wise  head. 

"He  would  without  doubt  have  done  so,  were  it  not 
for  Your  Nobility.  It  is  strange,  for  he  does  not  make 
friends  easily,  and  yet  not  so  strange,"  he  added,  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  her;  "but  he  has  of  a  certainty  given  his 

US 


MOONGLADE 

blessed  little  heart  into  Your  Nobility's  keeping,  Excellency. 
God  be  praised  for  it!  We  will  have  no  trouble  now. 
He  is  very  like  his  illustrious  father,"  he  concluded,  al- 
most in  a  whisper,  and  Regis  from  behind  his  curtain 
saw  a  slow  flush  of  deep  rose  spread  over  his  "Gamin's" 
fair  face. 

"  Je  ne  suis  decidement  qu'un  imbecile!"  he  apostro- 
phized himself  wrathfully,  and  noiselessly  he  quitted  his 
post  of  observation.  He  had  seen  enough,  and  more 
than  enough! 

At  ten  o'clock  that  night  the  Marquis  de  Plenhoel 
descended  the  perron  steps  to  hand  Laurence  from  her 
coupe".  She  was  marvelously  gowned  in  dying-azure  co- 
ruscated with  diamond  stars,  and  with  loose-locked 
clusters  of  lilac  orchids  playing  hide-and-seek  in  the  lace 
of  her  train.  She  gave  a  rapid  glance  about  her  as  she 
was  being  ceremoniously  conducted  to  the  great  salon 
on  the  first  floor,  and  when  Re"gis  bowed  her  in  she  asked, 
with  an  equivocal  smile  that  made  him  writhe  internally: 

"Where  is  Marguerite?" 

"Up-stairs  in  her  own  apartments,"  he  said,  shortly, 
"taking  a  cup  of  tea  with  our  old  friend  Madame  de 
Montemare — I  think  you  met  her  here  some  five  years 
ago." 

"I  think  I  remember  the  occasion,"  Laurence  ac- 
quiesced without  much  enthusiasm;  "and  tell  me, 
Cousin  Regis" — this  was  the  first  time  she  had  thus 
honored  him — "is  Marguerite  .  .  .  are  they  coming  down 
later?" 

"No,"  Re"gis  responded.  "Marguerite  does  not  like 
society;  and  as  to  Madame  de  Montemare,  she  claims 
that  her  circle  of  acquaintances  is  already  too  large,  so 
she  firmly  refuses  to  increase  it." 

"Too  bad!  Too  bad!"  Laurence  remarked,  with  a 
faint  sigh  of  relief,  her  brilliant  eyes  roving  over  the  mag- 
nificent drawing-room  with  its  Louis  XIV.  furniture  and 

146 


MOONGLADE 

tapestries  lighted  by  many  antique  lamps,  and  wax  can- 
dles in  sconces  and  appliques  half  drowned  in  verdure  and 
flowers. 

"  It  is  charming  here !"  she  approved.  "  So  mellow  and 
distingue;  different,  altogether  different  from  any  place 
I  know." 

Re*gis  smiled  a  mere  smile  and  bowed  a  little  bow  that 
vexed  Laurence,  in  spite  of  her  lovely  thick  skin. 

"You  are  very  good!"  the  master  of  this  "mellow"  and 
"distingue"  establishment  admitted.  "It  has  the  merit 
of  antiquity  in  a  time  altogether  too  modern — according 
to  my  poor  views  at  least." 

"You  are  a  hardened  Royalist!"  she  observed,  with  the 
least  suspicion  of  a  sneer.  "A  lover  of  all  that  no  longer 
exists." 

"And  you,  madame,  are  assuredly  Imperial  and  mod- 
ern CL  outrance!"  he  retorted  with  another  .bow. 

"In  Russia  one  has  to  be  an  Imperialist,"  she  said, 
densely;  "but  politics  do  not  interest  me." 

"Even  in  Russia?"  he  asked,  curiously. 

"Especially  there!"  she  said,  quickly,  an  expression 
of  mingled  fear  and  disgust  flitting  over  her  features. 

He  was  looking  down  at  her  where  she  sat  on  a  low 
ottoman  almost  at  his  feet,  and  the  extreme  d6colletage 
of  her  sumptuous  gown  amazed  him.  "I  am  glad  I  did 
not  let  my  Chevalier  see  her;  she's  getting  quite  brazen!" 
he  thought,  and  added  aloud,  in  order  to  say  something, 
"That  must  sound  odd  to  the  Russian-speaking  ear!" 

She  clapped  her  gloved  hands.  "Oh!"  she  said.  "De- 
licious! That  is  the  finest  Irish  bull  I  ever  heard." 

He  laughed  a  bit  awkwardly.  "I  beg  your  pardon," 
he  apologized.  "I  was  not  thinking  of  what  I  was  saying." 

"So  I  perceive,"  she  returned,  and,  rising  quickly,  she 
added:  "I  think  I  hear  a  motor  stopping.  Some  of  my 
friends,  probably." 

"Probably,"  he  assented.  "So  permit  me  to  take 

M7 


MOONGLADE 

leave  of  you  for  the  present.  Pray  command  me  if  I 
can  do  anything  else.  There  are,  I  believe,  some — re- 
freshments prepared  in  the  adjoining  room,  and  the  butler 
is  in  attendance." 

"But,"  she  murmured,  showing  embarrassment  for 
the  first  time,  "are  you  not  going  to  be  one  of  us?  It — 
it  would  not  disturb  me." 

" Thank  you  for  this  kindly  assurance."  He  bowed  low 
as  he  spoke,  and  without  another  word  made  his  exit  by 
a  side-door,  leaving  her  to  go  forward  and  greet  whoever 
it  was  that  was  coming. 

At  the  farther  end  of  the  drawing-room  was  a  carven 
balcony  where  some  tall  palms  and  ferns  stood,  which 
was  reached  by  an  outer  staircase.  There,  on  gala- 
nights,  musicians  were  placed  to  underline  the  conversa- 
tion, so  to  speak,  by  graceful  melodies  executed  on  harp 
and  violin,  cello  and  viola-d'amore.  It  had  been  a  pretty 
conceit  of  Regis's  mother  thus  to  entertain  her  guests, 
and  the  Marquis,  who  had  adored  her,  and  never  passed 
the  graceful  nook  without  a  thrust  of  reminiscence, 
paused  for  a  moment  on  his  way  up-stairs — between  the 
heavy  draperies  that  separated  it  from  the  landing.  It 
never  entered  his  head  that  from  where  he  stood  he  could 
see  without  being  seen.  Indeed,  he  was  at  the  moment 
quite  absorbed  in  debating  with  himself  whether  he  had 
not  been  extremely  stupid  to  allow  Laurence  the  privilege 
she  was  now  enjoying.  Though  by  no  means  strait- 
laced,  Regis  de  Plenhoel  felt  almost  as  if  her  presence 
here,  under  present  circumstances,  was  a  desecration  of 
his  mother's  memory — of  his  daughter's  purity;  for  he 
had  not  liked  Laurence's  demeanor  just  now.  And  then 
he  heard  something  that  made  him  coolly  step  upon  the 
balcony  and  look  down.  He  remained  there  absolutely 
petrified  and  immovable,  for  immediately  beneath  was 
Laurence,  her  white  arms  clasped  around  the  neck  of  a 
tall  man  whom,  with  a  start  of  amazement,  he  recog- 

148 


MOONGLADE 

nized  as  Captain  Neville  Moray,  the  British  Military  At- 
tache", whom  he  had  occasionally  met  since  that  famous 
evening  five  years  ago,  and  always  with  pleasure. 

"At  last — at  last!  After  a  whole  long  year!"  he  heard 
Laurence  say;  but  he  scarcely  knew  her  voice  again,  it 
was  so  full  of  warmth  and  of  passion.  In  a  moment 
Re"gis  recovered  himself  sufficiently  to  see  in  a  flash  the 
abominable  situation  in  which  his  customary  easy-going 
habits  had  placed  not  only  himself,  but  his  little  daughter, 
and  a  fine  moisture  broke  out  upon  his  forehead. 

"The  wretched  woman!"  he  said,  almost  aloud,  so 
great  was  his  perturbation,  and  just  then  the  subdued 
hum  of  a  second  motor  reached  him.  "I  wonder  who 
now!"  he  soliloquized,  precipitately  retreating  behind 
one  of  the  palms  at  the  back  of  the  balcony — ready  for 
inaction,  as  it  were,  for,  in  spite  of  all  his  savoir-faire,  he  no 
longer  knew  to  which  saint  he  should  address  his  prayers. 
"Has  she  perhaps  given  a  double  rendez-vous  here?"  he 
cogitated,  and  as  if  to  give  him  right,  absurd  as  the  sup- 
position seemed,  he  suddenly  heard  coming  from  below 
the  humorous  greetings  of  his  old  acquaintance,  Preston 
Wynne.  So  great  was  his  surprise  that  he  once  more 
advanced,  this  time  with  every  precaution,  and  peered 
downward  into  his  own  state  salon.  Laurence,  like  a 
well-behaved  hostess,  was  seated  now  on  a  canape  before 
Moray  and  Wynne,  and  two  other  gentlemen,  unknown 
to  R6gis,  who  wore  on  their  dress-coats  the  insignia  of 
several  Orders,  were  hovering  about  her.  Evidently  too 
shrewd  to  invite  Moray  alone,  she  was  giving  a  little  semi- 
official reception,  expecting,  doubtless,  by  this  move  to  pull 
the  wool  over  his,  Re"gis's,  eyes.  Reassured  by  the  safety 
of  numbers,  he  hurried  to  his  study,  where  he  summoned 
his  old  confidential  servant  and  envoy  extraordinary. 

"Francois,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  the  valet  entered, 
"you  will  see  that  her  Serene-Highness  Princess  Palitzin 
does  not  leave  the  house  without  my  being  advised  of  it. 

149 


MOONGLADE 

Remain  in  the  little  octagonal  room  off  the  main  hall, 
and  come  and  warn  me  the  moment  she  asks  for  her 
carriage." 

Francois  saluted  in  the  military  fashion — a  habit  he 
had  never  been  able  to  lose — and  was  on  the  point  of 
retreat  when  his  master  called  him  back. 

"The  Princess,"  he  said,  "is  receiving  some  friends 
here  to-night,  as  you  know.  Find  out  who  has  already 
arrived,  and  report  to  me." 

"That  man  is  worth  his  weight  in  gold,"  mused  the 
much-perturbed  "Antinous."  "He  knows  everybody  by 
sight,  has  capacious  ears  and  a  silent  tongue.  They 
don't  make  them  like  that  any  longer,  more's  the  pity!" 
And  snatching  up  an  evening  paper,  which  he  did  not  even 
pretend  to  read,  he  awaited  Francois's  return  with  such 
patience  as  he  could  muster. 

In  a  few  minutes  that  greatest  of  the  world's  wonders, 
a  perfect  servant,  re-entered  and  respectfully  stood  at  his 
master's  elbow,  waiting  to  be  questioned. 

"Well!"  said  Regis. 

"So  far,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  quietly  stated  the  old 
soldier,  who  looked  like  a  retired  general  in  his  irre- 
proachable evening  dress,  "there  are  in  the  salon  with 
her  Serene-Highness  Monsieur  le  Capitaine  Moray  of  the 
British  Embassy;  Monsieur  Wynne  of  America;  his  Ex- 
cellency the  Marquis  di  Sebastiani,  Italian  Charg^-d' Af- 
faires; Sefim  Bey  of  the  Ottoman  Embassy;  Monsieur 
le  Comte  de  Ve*drines,  attached  to  the  French  Embassy 
at  St.  Petersburg — now  on  leave;  Monsieur  le  Vicomte 
de  Braisles,  First  Secretary  of  the  French  Embassy  at 
Madrid — also  on  leave;  and  Lord  Charles  Arbuthnot  of 
the  British  Foreign  Office." 

Regis  had  not  moved  a  muscle  during  this  magnificent 
nomenclature.  "A  concert  of  the  great  Powers,"  he 
muttered  to  himself. 

"Monsieur  says?"  inquired  Frangois. 

150 


MOONGLADE 

"Nothing  of  any  importance.  But,  by  the  way,  Fran- 
cois, how  did  you  discover  the  names  of  the  noble  assem- 
blage down  below?" 

"Monsieur  le  Marquis  knows  how  easily  chauffeurs 
jabber.  Ah!  It  is  not  like  the  old  times  when  the 
gens-de-maison  knew  how  to  keep  their  places  with  dig- 
nity! Then  it  took  science  to  find  out  anything;  but 
now!  Monsieur  le  Marquis  has  doubtless  noticed  that 
servants  are  no  longer  what  they  used  to  be." 

In  spite  of  himself  Re"gis  smiled.  "You  are  unique, 
my  good  Franc,  ois!"  he  remarked.  "If  any  further — ar- 
rivals should  take  place,  keep  me  posted,"  and  with  a 
nod  he  dismissed  the  paragon. 

During  the  next  two  hours,  withdrawn  in  his  sanctum, 
the  exasperated  Marquis  received  at  regular  intervals 
from  Francois  a  series  of  discreet  intimations  that  half 
a  dozen  more  personages  of  high  degree  had  honored  his 
domicile  by  their  appearance  within  its  walls;  all  men, 
all  young  or  youngish,  all  attached  to  embassies  or  oc- 
cupying official  positions,  excepting  one,  who  was  a 
cavalry  officer  known  all  over  France  for  his  great  wealth 
and  his  unlaudable  eccentricities. 

"I  wonder,"  raged  poor  "Antinous,"  champing  his 
bit,  "why  she  didn't  invite  the  Papal  Nuncio  while  she 
was  about  it!  It  would  certainly  have  added  cachet  to 
the  assembly.  What  in  the  world  is  she  up  to?  Trying 
to  hoodwink  me?1'  And  throwing  the  paper-knife  he 
had  been  busying  his  fingers  with  to  the  other  end  of  the 
room,  he  walked  slowly  after  it;  not  with  the  intention 
of  replacing  it  on  his  desk,  but  just  to  see  how  far  it  had 
gone. 

Just  then  the  door  opened  half-way,  and  Francois  once 
more  insinuated  his  person  into  the  aperture. 

" Son  Altesse  Serenissime  is  alone,  and  would  thank 
Monsieur  le  Marquis  for  his  hospitality,"  he  announced 
in  a  tone  lugubrious  enough  for  a  judge  in  the  black  cap 


MOONGLADE 

about  to  pronounce  sentence.  The  heavy  clouds  on  his 
master's  brow  had  not  escaped  his  keenness  of  observa- 
tion, and  whatever  happened  to  be  his  master's  mood, 
Francois  loyally  and  unconsciously  echoed  it. 

"D — n  Her  Serene-Highness!"  Regis  growled  in  his 
mustache,  and  walked  quickly  down-stairs. 

How  he  had  planned  to  meet  Laurence  he  remembered 
not  at  all  as  he  found  her  carelessly  fingering  the  sheaf 
of  roses  basking  in  a  rock-crystal  vase  on  a  little  table 
at  her  side.  There  was  an  absent  smile  about  her  pretty 
mouth  and,  for  the  first  time  in  his  knowledge  of  her,  a 
peculiarly  dreamy  look  in  her  splendid  eyes.  She  turned, 
however,  at  the  slight  noise  of  his  steps  on  the  thick 
rugs,  and  presented  him  with  a  very  soft  glance. 

"I  am  going  now,"  she  said,  enchantingly.  "But  I 
could  not  do  so  without  telling  you  all  the  nice  things  I 
think  of  you,  Cousin  Regis.  It  was  really  kind  to  let  me 
believe  myself  even  for  a  few  hours  the  mistress  of  so 
adorable  a.  place  as  this.  I  take  it  that  Marguerite  is 
already  tucked  in  her  little  white  bedlet,  so  I  will  ask 
you  to  say  good  night  to  her  for  me — to-morrow  morn- 
ing." 

She  was  speaking  a  little  excitedly;  "worrying  her  fan," 
R£gis  thought,  with  undue  violence,  and  there  was  now  a 
very  becoming  tinge  of  pink  in  her  soft  cheeks.  At  his 
daughter's  name,  however,  "Antinoiis"  stiffened  like  a 
pointer,  and  without  any  suavity  whatsoever,  said: 

"May  I  beg  you  to  grant  me  a  few  minutes?" 

Laurence's  hazel  orbs  through  a  curtain  of  silken  lashes 
fixed  themselves  coquettishly  upon  him. 

"But,  certainly,"  she  readily  acquiesced;  "it  will  be  a 
pleasure — I  owe  you  a  reward,  anyhow!"  And  she  seated 
herself  in  a  high-backed  carven  chair,  upon  which  it  was 
easy  to  adopt  regal  airs. 

"C'est  trap  fort!"  inwardly  commented  Regis,  and,  dis- 
regarding her  inviting  gesture  toward  a  pile  of  cushions 

152 


MOONGLADE 

near  her,  he  leaned  one  hand  upon  the  rose-table,  and 
began  to  speak  in  a  grave  voice  of  which  she  had  never 
supposed  him  capable. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  slowly,  "you  have  placed  me  in  a 
difficult  position,  and  as  I  believe  in  plain  dealing  and 
plain  speaking,  I  am  about  to  ask  you,  without  further 
preparation,  what  you  intend  to  do  about  it." 

Laurence  straightened  herself  brusquely.  The  color 
fled  from  her  face,  and  with  it  the  very  essence  of  her 
brilliant  beauty. 

"I!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  have  put  you  in  a  difficult 
position?  Would  it  be  too  much  to  ask  you,  monsieur, 
how  I  have  contrived  to  be  so  unfortunate?" 

"Assuredly,  madame;  that  is  exactly  what  I  am  here 
to  do.  I  was  unlucky  enough  to  witness — wholly  by 
accident — two  or  three  hours  ago  your  meeting  with 
Captain  Moray." 

Laurence,  who  had  already  guessed  something  of  the 
sort,  indulged  in  a  low,  insolent  laugh. 

"Such  'accidents'  have  a  name,  monsieur,"  she  said, 
with  considerable  effrontery.  "They  enter,  it  seems  to 
me,  into  the  province  of  espionage — of — the  Third  Section, 
if  you  prefer." 

Re'gis  passed  over  the  intended  insult  as  though  it  were 
not  worth  picking  up. 

"By  accident,"  he  quietly  repeated.  "And  much  as  I 
dislike  calling  a  woman  to  account,  especially  beneath  my 
own  roof,  I  desire — as  I  have  already  given  myself  the 
honor  of  telling  you — to  know  from  your  own  lips  what 
you  intend  to  do  about  it!" 

Laurence  for  a  second  asked  herself  whether  or  no  she 
could  brazen  the  thing  out.  How  much  had  he  seen  or 
heard?  Perhaps  this  was  only  a  "feeler,"  a  mere  trick 
to  get  rid  of  her  whom  he  did  not  like — she  had  long  ago 
perceived  that.  A  swift  glance  at  him,  however,  showed 
her  a  Regis  so  different  from  the  gay  and  debonnaire 
ii  153 


MOONGLADE 

Grand  Seigneur  she  had  known  until  then  that  she  felt  a 
little  shiver  of  fear  pass  between  her  very  bare  shoulders. 

"Do  about  what?"  she  questioned.  "You  presume  a 
good  deal,  Monsieur  de  Plenhoel,  to  address  me  as  you 
are  doing."  She  was  marking  time,  and  he  knew  it. 

"Rest  assured,  madame,  that  I  am  not  here  for  my 
pleasure,"  he  replied.  "You  seem  to  forget  that  I  am 
your  husband's  kinsman  and  friend — not  to  enumerate 
other  capacities  which  had  better  not  be  mentioned  just 
now.  At  any  rate,  I  am  endeavoring  to  do  my  best  for 
his  sake,  and  that  of  one  or  two  more  persons — your  son, 
for  instance.  But  if  you  persist  in  the  line — of  defense — 
you  seem  to  have  taken  up,  I  will  bow  you  out,  and  take 
my  own  course  in  the  matter." 

"But  really,  monsieur,  I  have  not  the  faintest  idea  of 
what  you  want  of  me — of  what  you  accuse  me!  Is  this 
a  joke,  or  do  you  genuinely  imagine  that  you  have  me  at 
a  disadvantage?" 

"I  believe  in  the  testimony  of  my  own  eyes." 

"Indeed!  Well,  and  what  did  your  own  eyes  testify 
to,  that  so  greatly  offends  a — mondain  like  yourself?" 

Regis  felt  that  he  could  have  joyously  beaten  her  with 
a  schoolroom  birch,  but  chivalry  has  its  drawbacks,  and 
he  had  to  be  content  with  an  utterly  futile  clenching  of 
the  fingers,  which  she  observed  with  pleasure.  If  she 
could  only  make  him  lose  his  temper! 

"I  saw  you,"  he  said,  now  quite  brutally  frank,  "with 
your  arms  about  Captain  Moray's  neck,  and  as  if  that 
were  not  sufficient,  I  heard  you  acknowledge  your  love 
for  him." 

Laurence  played  her  next  card  with  praiseworthy  de- 
termination. 

"Well — and  what  of  it?"  she  said.  "You  chose  to 
spy  upon  me,  but  you  have  merely  discovered  a  mare's 
nest.  Since  you  want  the  truth,  I'll  give  it  to  you  on  all- 
fours.  Captain  Moray  and  I  have  known  each  other 

i54 


MOONGLADE 

since  childhood,  and  there  has  always  been  a  deep  affec- 
tion between  us.  Hearing  of  my  arrival  in  Paris,  he  has- 
tened to  call  upon  me  at  the  Embassy.  I  was  out,  -and 
later  on  I  sent  him  a  petit-bleu  inviting  him  here  to-night 
with  several  other  friends  .  .  .  and — your  assent.  As  to  my 
greeting  to  him,  it  is  perfectly  natural  and  proper  after 
so  many  years'  separation;  nothing  more  than  it  should 
have  been.  Are  you  satisfied?" 

"No!"  answered  Regis,  looking  down  at  her  with  a 
grim  smile,  and  suddenly  she  came  face  to  face  with  her 
position.  What  could  she  offer  the  Marquis  to  win  him 
over,  to  silence  him?  She  was  dealing  with  a  man  who 
— so  to  speak — held  the  best  cards.  Would  he  play  them  ? 
She  breathed  hard,  for  she  was  passing  in  those  short 
seconds  through  aeons  of  torture.  Her  high  position,  her 
whole  future,  her  as  yet  unblemished  name,  were  utterly 
and  completely  at  Regis's  mercy. 

"What  more  do  you  want,  then?"  she  asked  at  last,  in 
a  lowered  voice  that  was  shaking  with  dread  and  anger. 
She  broke  off  with  a  ghastly  forced  laugh,  and  attempted 
to  meet  his  straight  glance  with  sullen,  defiant  eyes,  but 
her  gaze  slowly  fell  before  his  own. 

"I  do  not  want  much,"  Re*gis  said,  bending  a  little 
toward  her  and  emphasizing  each  word  by  a  gentle  tap 
of  his  fingers  on  the  inlaid  table-top.  "I  am  not  your 
judge,  nor  do  I  desire  to  persecute  you.  Of  that  rest 
assured." 

He  paused,  and  in  the  intense  silence  that  followed, 
a  shower  of  rose-petals  dropping  to  the  floor  was  almost 
painfully  audible. 

"If  this  is  the  case,  what  do  you  demand  of  me?"  she 
murmured,  her  head  drooping  so  that  he  could  see  the 
artificial  waving  of  her  hair  rising  from  her  white  neck 
to  the  circlet  of  her  starred  diadem. 

"First  of  all,  that  you  should  never  see  Marguerite 
again,  excepting  in  public  and  when  it  absolutely  cannot 


MOONGLADE 

be  avoided,"  he  said,  with  a  sort  of  repressed  intensity 
that  made  her  wince.  "Secondly,  that  during  your  stay 
away  from  your  husband  you  should,  as  far  as  possible, 
avoid  us.  The  rest  is  with  you.  You  know  very  well 
that  I  will  not  betray  what  I  have  discovered — to  my 
amazement  and  regret.  To  preach  is  just  as  far  from  my 
mind  and  character.  But  remember;  if  ever  Basil  learns 
that  you  have  stepped  down  from  the  pedestal  upon 
which  he  placed  you,  he  will  be  unmerciful." 

"But  " — she  struggled — "there  is  nothing — I  have  done 
nothing — to  deserve  his  anger!  Your  'Madonna*  is  in 
no  danger  from  me.  I  am  an  honest  woman.  I  swear  it ! 
I  swear  it!  I  have  never  seen  Captain  Moray  since  my 
marriage  before  to-night." 

She  was  white  as  a  sheet  now,  and  Re"gis  remained  si- 
lent. Where  was  the  use  of  quoting  her  own  words  to 
her — "at  last — at  last — after  a  whole  long  year!"  Did  she 
even  remember  them  in  her  terror  and  confusion?  He 
knew  with  the  intuitive  certainty  of  a  squire  of  dames  that 
she  was  not  the  sort  to  entertain  a  platonic  affection — he 
had  known  that  long  before.  She  was  defending  herself 
as  best  she  could,  according  to  her  limitations,  and  all 
the  manhood  in  him  revolted  against  prolonging  the  scene. 

"You  are  upset,"  he  said,  with  less  severity  of  tone, 
though  his  irritation  had  not  diminished.  "Supposing 
we  let  the  matter  drop  now?  I  will,  if  you  permit  me, 
take  you  home.  I  have  told  you  what  I  expect  of  you. 
Let  it  stop  at  that." 

Once  again  he  became  the  polished  man  of  the  world, 
his  mask  admirably  reattached,  and  as  he  spoke  he 
bowed  deferentially. 

For  a  moment  she  did  not  appear  to  have  heard  him. 
Her  attitude  was  one  miserable  alluring  droop,  and  from 
its  nest  of  laces  and  frou-frous  one  exquisitely  shod  foot 
peeped  out  among  the  fallen  rose-petals  on  the  floor. 
The  pose  was  clever. 

156 


MOONGLADE 

"Why  do  you  dislike  me — so — so — much?"  she  mur- 
mured, gazing  fixedly  downward  at  her  little  jeweled  slip- 
per, timidly  busy  amid  the  ruin  of  the  roses. 

Regis  glanced  at  this  amusing  by-play  and  carefully 
denied  himself  the  luxury  of  a  smile. 

"I  said  nothing  of  the  sort,"  he  politely  countered. 
"But  it  is  getting  very  late,  Princess."  He  employed  the 
title  with  deliberate  bad  taste.  "May  I  have  your  car- 
riage called?" 

Laurence  rose  with  a  great  rustle  of  her  flowing  silks, 
and  stood  dry-lipped  before  him.  She  made  an  evident 
effort  to  speak,  but  mortification  and  rage  forbade  this. 
Her  eyes  were  flashing  like  yellow  zircons,  and  he  looked 
at  her  in  some  apprehension,  though  the  firm  set  of  his 
mouth  did  not  relax.  Then  without  warning  she  swayed 
forward,  seized  his  hand  in  both  her  own,  as  if  to  support 
herself,  and,  falling  against  his  shoulder,  burst  into  a 
passion  of  sobs. 

"Well,  that's  the  bouquet!"  thought  the  irrepressible 
Re"gis,  supporting  her  with  no  good  will — this  gay  butter- 
fly was  in  a  virtuous  mood !  Besides,  she  was  emphatically 
not  his  style,  as  he  had  remarked  five  years  ago;  also — 
under  stress  of  weather,  as  it  were — her  methods  were  be- 
coming somewhat  too  crude  for  this  rafine,  used  to  more 
delicate  behavior  on  the  part  of  the  women  he  admired. 

"You — you — won't  be  convinced!"  she  sobbed,  clutch- 
ing the  lapel  of  his  coat.  "You  are  a — h — h — harsh 
man — Re"gis!"  There  was  great  tenderness  in  the  way 
she  pronounced  his  name. 

With  difficulty  he  managed  to  unclasp  the  slender 
fingers,  and,  holding  her  at  a  distance  by  a  gentle  pressure 
on  the  wrists,  he  looked  full  at  her — this  time  with  an 
imperceptible  smile. 

"You  are  a  very  pretty  woman,  Princess,  but  do  not 
waste  your  best  weapons  upon  so  negligible  a  person  as 
myself — I  am  fire-proof." 

157 


MOONGLADE 

A  bright  spot  of  color  sprang  into  each  of  her  pale 
cheeks — which,  by  the  way,  showed  no  trace  of  tears.  Her 
white  teeth  clicked  together  and  she  drew  back  violently. 

"You  insult  me,  Monsieur  de  Plenhoel,"  she  cried. 
"First  you  accuse  me  of  having  a  lover,  and  now  you 
infer  that  I  wish  to  win  you,  too!" 

Once  more  Regis  bowed.  "Madame,"  he  said,  smiling 
more  openly,  "I  am  not  a  coxcomb,  but  I  realize  that  all 
means  are  fair  in  war,  so  I  exonerate  you  of  any  design 
save  that  of  self-protection."  Whereupon  he  slipped  her 
hand  under  his  arm,  drew  her  to  the  door  of  the  main 
hall,  and  called  Frangois.  In  a  few  moments  more  he  had 
solicitously  wrapped  her  in  her  long  cloak,  and  was  es- 
corting her  to  her  waiting  brougham  before  she  could  find 
a  word  to  say. 

"A  prolonged  tete-a-tete  would  offer  no  inducements  to 
either  of  us  now,"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  wonderfully  col- 
lected voice,  "so  do  not  come  with  me;  but  be  assured 
that  we  shall  meet  again  and  that  I  shall  know  how  to 
thank  you  for  this  evening's  hospitality." 

"Mille  graces,  madame!  Une  hospitality  tout  a  fait 
Ecossaise!"  he  murmured,  handing  her  into  her  carriage, 
and  as  she  drove  off  she  could  see  him,  still  bowing,  on 
the  last  of  the  granite  steps.  Behind  him  the  state  ante- 
chamber and  staircase  blazed  with  light,  which,  fortu- 
nately, prevented  her  from  seeing  the  expression  of  his 
face. 

"And  now  how  explain  to  the  Chevalier?  How  keep 
Basil  in  the  dark  when  he  writes  asking  for  news?"  Re*gis 
thought,  while  regaining  his  study.  His  brows  were  knit, 
and  for  the  second  time  that  night  he  sank  into  deep 
thought  from  the  depths  of  an  arm-chair,  smoking  ciga- 
rette after  cigarette,  without,  however,  attaining  to  any 
satisfactory  conclusion.  "Elle  n'est  pas  ires  forte,"  he 
said  several  times  to  himself  during  the  course  of  this 
long  cogitation.  No,  Laurence  was  not  very  strong  in 

158 


MOONGLADE 

the  sense  he  meant.  Her  finesses  were  sewn  with  white 
thread,  her  attempts  at  duping  her  fellow-creatures  not 
quite  sufficiently  finished  in  detail,  yet  she  seemed  to 
have  hoodwinked,  tricked,  done  .  .  .  that  splendid  chap, 
her  husband!  Rdgis  moved  restlessly.  Of  course  he 
knew  how  some  husbands  could  be  blinded  in  spite  of  the 
sun,  the  moon,  and  the  stars  of  every  magnitude  staring 
them  in  the  face,  but  Basil  was  not  made  of  that  stuff. 
Then  for  an  instant  the  pendulum  swung  back,  and  he 
asked  himself  whether  he  could  possibly  have  been  un- 
just. His  long-standing  antipathy  for  Laurence!  Had  it 
led  .him  astray?  He  angrily  threw  one  leg  over  the  arm 
of  his  chair  and  asked  himself  that  question  squarely  and 
fairly.  "No!  A  thousand  times  no!"  he  suddenly  ex- 
claimed aloud.  "I  saw  it  all.  Her  eyes,  her  lips,  her 
poise,  were  not  those  of  an  innocent  woman — and  her 
little  attempt  upon  my  own  modest  virtue!  Pah!  It's 
all  as  clear  as  daylight,  and  time  will  show  it  to  be  only 
too  true.  Meanwhile  I'm  going  to  take  my  Chevalier  to 
farthest  Brittany  at  once.  It  will  be  safer." 

He  rose,  stretched  himself,  laughed  a  little  nervously, 
and  moved  slowly  up-stairs.  As  he  passed  the  flower- 
gallery  he  heard  the  rush  of  fierce  wind  and  rain  driving 
on  the  glass  dome.  Against  the  rosy  glow  of  the  half- 
lowered  hanging-lamps  he  saw  a  flock  of  sodden  leaves 
clinging  to  the  panes  like  great,  green  moths,  seeking  en- 
trance to  escape  from  the  sudden  squall,  and  with  some- 
thing between  a  yawn  and  a  sigh  he  went  on  to  his  own 
rooms. 


CHAPTER  XII 

Honor  and  old  ideals,  I  fear 
Are  with  the  snows  of  yester-year, 
Or  like  old  houses — straitly  mewed 
In  some  sequestered  solitude. 

A  RUSSIAN  forest  is  assuredly  one  of  the  most  impressive 
of  all  sights,  especially  in  winter  when  the  world  has 
put  on  its  ermine  mantle.  Soundless  in  its  depths  as  the 
deeps  of  the  sea — hushed  in  its  silence  like  the  great 
Sahara — save  when  an  overloaded  branch  succumbs  to 
its  weight  of  snow  and  breaks  with  the  dry  crack  of  a 
gun,  it  seems  utterly  untenanted  by  beast  or  bird.  The 
latter  always  congregate  on  the  fringes  of  the  villages, 
where  grain  is  always  to  be  found,  owing  to  the  gracious 
custom  which  causes  every  inhabitant  at  harvest-time  to 
hang  a  sheaf  beneath  the  eaves;  while  the  bears  have 
withdrawn  into  the  comfortable  quarters  they  have 
prudently  arranged  for  themselves  at  the  first  serious  hint 
of  real  cold.  Wolves  there  are,  on  the  prowl  in  the  sly, 
shambling  fashion  which  is  peculiarly  their  own,  but 
after  sundown  only — at  least  until  emboldened  by  star- 
vation. Now  and  then  a  ptarmigan,  as  white  as  the 
bitter  season  itself,  flits  heavily  above  the  underlying 
thicket,  though  his  appearance  is  as  rare  almost  as  when 
a  capercailzie  (kurdpatkti)  starts  up  to  break  the  still- 
ness with  a  tumult  of  wings  and  a  sifting  of  powdery 
snow. 

In  the  "wealthy"  forests  belonging  to  great  territorial 
nobles,  broad  paths — or  narrow  roads — are  cut  and  num- 

i6p 


MOONGLADE 

bered,  like  the  allees  of  some  colossal  park,  and  there, 
sleighs  as  also  saddle-horses,  become  the  easy  means  of 
pleasure  to  the  owners  or  their  guests.  For  there  are  few 
sensations  more  exhilarating  and  buoyant  than  to  gallop 
upon  those  clear,  smooth  avenues  between  the  serried 
trunks  of  trees,  upbearing  like  the  pillars  of  some  Gothic 
cathedral  the  roof  of  a  silent  world. 

Such  a  forest  was  that  skirting  the  estate  of  the  Duchesse 
de  Salvidres,  nee  Palitzin,  and  in  the  dark  before  a  bitter 
November  dawn — bitter  even  for  that  glacial  region — 
this  charming  person  herself,  masked  to  the  eyes  in  fur, 
was  driving  her  troika  furiously  in  the  direction  of  Tverna. 
To  drive  a  troika,  whether  on  earth  or  on  snow,  is  an 
accomplishment  seldom  acquired  by  women,  but  Tatiana- 
Vassilievna  de  Salvieres — who  never  lost  an  occasion  of 
declaring  that  she  was  not  a  woman — knew  the  art  as 
thoroughly  as  the  foremost  yemshik  in  Muscovy. 

Her  above-mentioned  pretensions  were,  fortunately,  not 
borne  out  by  any  stigma  of  masculinity,  either  physical 
or  mental — unless  one  could  class  in  the  latter  category 
a  fixity  of  purpose,  a  calm  courage,  and  an  inexhaustible 
fund  of  dogged  endurance;  which  qualities,  either  singly 
or  in  combination,  are  wholly  foreign  to  the  feminine 
nature.  Extremely  lovely  still,  with  her  graceful  oval 
face  lighted  by  deep  dark-gray  eyes,  and  framed  in  warm- 
chestnut  hair  threaded  already  with  narrow  ribbons  of 
clear  silver,  her  short,  authoritative  nose,  her  firm,  well- 
arched  mouth  and  obstinate  little  chin,  cleft  by  a  char- 
acteristic fossette,  she  was  what  the  French  graphically 
callfaite  au  tour  (made  on  a  turner's  lathe).  She  was  not 
tall,  but  admirably  proportioned:  slim  -  waisted,  full- 
hipped,  and  square-shouldered,  and  her  hands,  extraor- 
dinarily small,  but  yet  in  no  way  resembling  the  useless, 
tapering,  monkey-like  variety  so  dear  to  flashy  novelists 
under  the  appellation  of  mains  de  Duchesse,  were  shaped 
on  an  especially  artistic  model,  which  showed  both  char- 


MOONGLADE 

acter  and  strength.  Her  feet  followed  suit,  amusingly 
high-arched,  eminently  aristocratic,  and  yet  capable  of 
being  stood  upon  with  supple  energy,  under  any  and  every 
circumstance,  and  from  her  whole  being  there  emanated 
a  vigor,  a  self-reliance,  and  a  savoir-faire  altogether  un- 
common in  these  slouchy,  spineless,  neurasthenic  days. 

Such  was  the  sister-in-law  given  by  a  far-seeing  Provi- 
dence to  Laurence  Seton,  Princess  Basil  Palitzin,  and 
lucky  it  was  for  her  that  this  was  so,  for,  to  put  it  mildly, 
that  fair  daughter  of  Albion  was  just  then  seriously  dis- 
mayed by  a  certain  hornet's  nest  that  she  had  wilfully 
broken  open. 

After  her  unwilling  and  ungracious  return  from 
"abroad,"  as  she  distinguished  between  Russia  and  other 
more  fortunate  European  countries,  Laurence  had  con- 
sented, not  without  painfully  apparent  reluctance,  to  re- 
integrate the  Castle  of  Tverna  during  the  hunting  and 
shooting  season.  Great  parties  of  guests  had  then  filled 
the  place  and  made  life  endurable  to  her  for  the  time  being; 
but  when  these  had  departed  and  she  had  succeeded  in 
making  her  husband  promise  to  take  her  to  Petersburg 
for  the  winter,  a  sudden  call  to  the  bedside  of  an  aunt 
who  was  also  his  godmother — a  relationship  very  seri- 
ously considered  in  Russia — had  forced  him  to  leave  in 
haste  just  as  the  first  heavy  snow  was  beginning  to  fall. 
He  had  not  done  so  without  many  qualms  of  anxiety; 
for  not  only  did  he  by  now  fully  realize  the  unpopularity 
of  his  wife  on  his  estates,  but  also  the  fact  that  the  peas- 
ants' restlessness  was  slowly  increasing,  owing  to  the 
scantiness  of  the  last  harvest.  Every  precaution  had  been 
taken  by  him,  however,  to  protect  Laurence  from  any 
sort  of  annoyance  during  an  absence  that  might  be  pro- 
longed if  he  found  his  aged  relative  in  danger;  but  not- 
withstanding this  he  had  left  Tverna  with  a  heavy  heart 
and  an  anxious  mind. 


MOONGLADE 

Alone,  or  practically  so,  in  the  grim  old  cradle  of  her 
husband's  race — for  her  maternal  instincts  had  remairted 
utterly  undeveloped,  and  her  little  son's  absence  was  al- 
ways preferred  by  her  to  his  company — Laurence  found 
time  hanging  wearily  on  her  hands.  From  morning  till 
night,  dressed  with  the  costliness  and  splendor  she  was 
so  fond  of,  she  paced  about  the  long  enfilades  of  salons 
and  galleries  between  which  all  the  doors  remained  wide 
open,  Russian  fashion,  bemoaning  her  unlucky  fate.  Now 
and  again  she  paused  before  one  or  another  of  the  inter- 
minable lines  of  windows  fronting  upon  the  steppe — the 
rooms  were  kept  so  warm  that  there  was  no  rime  on  the 
glass — and  could  have  shrieked  aloud  at  the  awful  im- 
mensity stretched  out  beneath  her.  To  this  peculiar 
mind  the  prospect  held  no  beauty,  no  grandeur  even, 
though  it  possessed  both  in  a  great  and  marked  measure. 
The  Castle  itself,  built  as  it  were  from  the  rock  whereon 
it  stands,  is  gray  as  its  gray  escarpments,  abrupt  and 
uncompromising — a  fortress  armed  cap-a-pie,  impregnable 
to  assault  from  three  sides.  At  its  back  rises  the  moun- 
tainous ridge  punctuated  by  the  "Tverna  rock" — as  it 
is  designated — which  quickly  broadens  into  an  upland, 
miles  and  miles  wide,  dense  with  forest  that,  after  a 
fashion,  shelters  the  vast  sweep  of  the  rearward  walls. 

Basil  had  already  been  gone  two  weeks,  and  little  by 
little  Laurence's  exasperation  had  been  growing  to  un- 
bearable proportions,  when  one  afternoon,  as  she,  according 
to  her  custom,  was  trailing  her  fur-bordered  velvets  up 
and  down  the  first  floor,  Garrassime  presented  himself 
before  her — hands  crossed  upon  breast,  and  head  bowed, 
as  is  the  rule  of  inferiors  toward  their  masters  there. 

"What  do  you  want?"  Laurence  threw  at  him  over  her 
shoulder,  not  deigning  to  pause  for  the  fraction  of  a  second 
in  her  caged-tigress  walk. 

"The  starbsta,  Your  Highness,  waits  below,  and  would 
crave  the  boon  of  a  short  audience." 

163 


MOONGLADE 

Laurence  turned  irritably  and  came  toward  Garrassime. 

"Indeed!  Then  let  him  know  that  I  have  no  time  to 
waste  upon  such  as  he!"  she  said,  contemptuously. 

Garrassime  recoiled  as  if  he  had  been  struck,  and,  in- 
stinctively retreating  to  the  nearest  wall,  put  as  great  a 
distance  between  himself  and  his  mistress  as  space  would 
allow. 

"Well,  why  don't  you  go?"  she  demanded,  stamping  her 
narrow  foot,  "instead  of  looking  at  me  like  a  distressed 
owl.  D'you  hear?" 

"I  will  go — Highness — I  will  go — but  the  starbstd  re- 
ports two  cases  of  typhus  in  the  village — at  least  he  thinks 
it  is  typhus,  and  he  prays  a  doctor  may  be  sent  for,  and 
disinfectants,  and — " 

"Typhus!"  Laurence  cried,  falling  back  in  her  turn. 
"And  you  dare  to  approach  me  after  speaking  to  that  in- 
fected man!  Go  away!  Go  away!  This  instant!" 

But  Garrassime  did  not  move.  For  once,  on  the  con- 
trary, he  straightened  himself  to  his  full  and  enormous 
height,  as  if  no  longer  in  presence  of  a  loftier  personality, 
and  when  he  spoke  it  was  in  altered  accents. 

"There  is  no  risk,  no  danger!"  he  said,  as  he  would 
have  done  to  reassure  a  fretful  child.  "He,  the  starbstd, 
has  not  been  near  the  houses  where  there  is  sickness — but 
there  will  be  worse  erelong  if  one  does  not  act  promptly. 
Had  there  been  risk  of  contagion  I  would  not  have  gone 
near  him,  for  Prince  Piotr's  sake — indeed,  Your  Highness, 
not  for  mine,  but  for  Prince  Piotr's." 

"How  do  you  know  whether  there  is  risk  or  not?" 
Laurence  exclaimed,  violently  drawing  her  skirts  around 
her.  "Send  for  twenty  doctors,  if  you  like.  What  do  I 
care!  I  am  going.  I'll  leave  here  to-day.  Give  orders 
for  instant  departure.  Prince  Piotr  and  his  household 
can  come  away,  too.  But  go,  go  at  once,  and  see  to  it!" 

She  was  clutching  distractedly  at  the  back  of  a  chair, 
and  her  fingers  fidgeted  restlessly  upon  it.  Garrassime 

164 


MOONGLADE 

was  gazing  at  her  in  absolute  consternation.  What  was 
he  to  do  in  so  unexpected  a  dilemma — so  unheard-of  a 
situation!  And  this  was  his  beloved  master's  wife — the 
Princess — the  mother  of  the  Boy-Heir  of  his — Garrassime's 
— adoration ! 

"Your  Highness  does  not  know,"  he  said,  without 
moving  from  his  place,  "that  the  doctor  is  far  away. 
He  has  twenty  thousand  souls  to  look  after,  and  will  not 
move  without  peremptory  orders  from  the  Zemtsvo,  or  from 
Your  Highness,  since  his  Excellency  our  Prince  is  not 
here." 

"And  if  it  gets  worse?"  Laurence  asked,  shivering  like 
a  leaf.  "If  there  is  more  of  that  plague  coming?  If — " 

"Bdgddl  y  Bog  vzial,"  Garrassime  gravely  replied  (  God 
gave  and  God  took!).  "That  is  all  we  will  say  then, 
Highness.  It  is  for  you,  Illustrious,  however,  to  prevent 
its  happening — if  it  can  yet  be  done!" 

"The  land-steward  and  the  intendant  must  look  to  it 
all!"  Laurence  cried,  tripping  over  her  words.  "You 
are  here  to  take  care  of  me — of  Prince  Piotr.  You  must 
not  have  anything  to  do  with  this  ghastly  affair!" 

Garrassime,  hiding  his  indignation,  advanced  nearer 
to  her  unreproved;  she  was  too  frightened  now  to  notice 
it.  "The  people,"  he  pronounced,  with  slow  respect, 
"would  long  since  have  starved,  or  died  of  many  sicknesses, 
had  our  lords  not  taken  care  of  them.  The  taxes  are 
heavy,  Your  Highness.  We  of  the  villages  were  happier 
a  thousand  times  as  serfs — before  the  Little  White  Father 
of  other  days — peace  be  to  his  soul — gave  them  their 
liberty."  Here  Garrassime  bowed  three  times,  crossing 
himself  devoutly,  and  Laurence,  held  by  something  she 
could  not  have  explained,  stood  still,  watching  him. 
"There  is  nothing  left,"  the  gray-haired  servitor  ventured 
on,  "but  to  help  them  in  every  way,  and  that  is  what  the 
Prince,  Your  Highness's  Illustrious  Consort,  has  always 
done,  as  his  noble  father  did  before  him.  By  their  holy 

165 


MOONGLADE 

forethought  cholera  has  already  been  almost  frightened 
away,  and  the  people  no  longer  starve.  But  there  are 
other  evils,  Highness — and  we — that  is,  they  thought — 
that  in  the  absence  of  our  beloved  master,  Your  Highness 
might  consider — the  welfare  of — his — people,  Highness — 
that  you  might  wish  to  do  for  them  what  he  does." 

She  gave  a  short  toss  of  the  head.  There  was  an  ex- 
pression of  extreme  disgust  in  her  whole  attitude  that  did 
not  escape  him,  and  perhaps  emboldened  him  to  go  yet 
further. 

"Your  Highness  cannot  leave  them  now,"  he  said,  al- 
most sternly.  "Not  while  His  Excellency  is  away,  while 
they  are  so  hard  pressed  already.  His  Excellency's  fore- 
fathers through  many,  many  generations  have  aided  and 
saved  the  forefathers  of  these  in  pain  and  trouble.  Re- 
member that,  Highness." 

"Cannot  leave!"  cried  Laurence.  "Cannot  leave!  Is 
there  somebody  here  or  anywhere  with  enough  effrontery 
to  call  me  to  order?" 

Garrassime  glanced  at  her  flashing  eyes,  at  her  white, 
furious  face,  and  suddenly  he  dropped  to  his  knees  before 
her,  in  a  dumb  attitude  of  passionate  entreaty,  his  hands 
clasped  and  upstretched  to  her.  At  last  he  spoke:  "You 
are  our  Lady,  our  hereditary  Providence,  our  all-powerful 
Mistress!"  he  said,  almost  as  pale  as  she.  "Have  mercy 
upon  them — upon  yourself  also — Highness.  Do  not  show 
the  people  that  you  do  not  care — that  you  really  are  a 
stranger  to  them.  They  are  a  strange  sort  here,  High- 
ness. You  do  not  know — you  do  not  know!" 

Tears  of  anguish  were  in  the  eyes  of  the  giant  as  he 
knelt  there  at  her  feet,  almost  on  the  sumptuous  folds  of 
her  gown.  His  inheritance  and  training  admitted  of  no 
other  belief  than  that  those  living  on  the  land  were  born 
to  look  up  to  their  Princes  and  Princesses,  and  that  these 
latter  had  been  put  into  the  world  for  few  other  purposes 
than  to  help  the  peasants — no  longer  serfs,  and  therefore 

166 


MOONGLADE 

no  longer  valuable  property — as  long  as  they  needed  help. 
It  was  a  simple  and  direct  creed,  encouraged  by  Basil, 
easily  assimilated  and  followed,  and  in  his  heart  Gar- 
rassime  prayed  passionately  that  she  might  not  close  her 
eyes  and  ears  to  his  entreaties;  that  God  would  not  allow 
her  to  harden  her  heart. 

Trembling  with  fright,  Laurence  once  more  stepped 
back.  Her  hatred  of  Russia  and  everything  Russian  was 
so  intense  for  the  moment  that  it  obliterated  the  feeling 
of  satisfied  vanity  which  at  times  had  come  to  her  when 
she  saw  her  husband's  vassals — hers  also  by  marriage  if  she 
had  so  willed  it — grovel  at  her  feet.  A  half -crazed  desire 
to  fly  for  safety  deadened  all  other  sensations,  and  her 
voice  was  dry  and  hoarse  as  she  again  ordered  Garrassime 
to  leave  her  presence,  to  hurry — only  hurry — preparations 
for  her  departure. 

Slowly  the  devoted  man  rose  to  his  feet,  and  for  an  in- 
stant their  eyes  met  like  two  blades  naked  for  combat; 
then  the  servant  lowered  his  gaze  and,  forcing  himself  to 
humility,  bowed  profoundly. 

" I  must  obey,"  he  said,  sorrowfully.  "But  Your  High- 
ness assuredly  does  not  comprehend  the  evil  that  will  be 
done — the  anger  of  His  Excellency,  nor  what  the  people 
are  capable  of  if  the  sickness  spreads,  and  stricken  by 
panic,  they  feel  themselves  forsaken.  We  of  the  Castle 
cannot  restrain  them.  They  will  break.  I,  Garrassime, 
know  them  well — although  I  am  not  of  them.  They  will 
become  uncontrollable — unrestrainable.  I  implore  Your 
Highness  not  to  decide  anything  in  haste.  God  knows  what 
they  might  be  exasperated  into  doing — perhaps  prevent 
Your  Highness  from  leaving  the  place,  and" — he  added, 
desperately — "if  Your  Highness  goes,  they  will  feel — and 
justly  so — that  there  is  great  danger:  that  they  are  lost." 

"But  this  is  intolerable— unthinkable!  Am  I  a  pris- 
oner here  in  my  own  Castle — prisoner  of  that  mob  of 
diseased  brutes?" 

167 


MOONGLADE 

She  glanced  affrightedly  around  her  at  the  ancient 
tapestries  shadowing  the  thick  walls  with  uncouth  figures, 
at  the  grim  effigies  in  knightly  mail  that  with  their  tall 
lances  so  helplessly  guarded  the  great  room,  and  finally 
at  the  row  of  unshuttered  windows  slowly  darkening  to 
the  night,  and  through  which  she  saw  a  swift  gleam  of 
powdered  snow,  a  mere  haze  of  sifting  atoms  fine  as  dust, 
but  which  she  knew  might  precede  a  tourmente. 

"Ah,  God!"  she,  cried.  "Is  there  no  help  for  me? 
No  one  who  can  come  and  release  me  from  this  tor- 
ture?" 

Garrassime  was  staring- — staring — staring  at  her  in 
her  now  disheveled  beauty,  his  lips  slowly  curling  back 
from  his  sharp  white  teeth. 

"The  Duchess!"  Laurence  suddenly  shrieked.  "She  is 
at  Palitzinovna.  Send  for  the  Duchesse  de  Salvieres. 
She  will  know  how  to  deal  with  this.  She  may  still  come 
in  time.  Surely  she  will  not  refuse  to  come!  You  don't 
think  she  will  refuse,  Garrassime?" 

"No,  she  will  not  refuse  to  come,"  Garrassime  assured 
her  in  a  deep,  extra-guttural  voice.  "But  will  it  be  well, 
Excellency,  if  it  be  found  out  afterward  that  Your  High- 
ness cannot  manage  her  own  people;  that  only  our  own 
born  Princess,  one  of  our  House,  can  do  this  easy  deed?" 

"Easy  deed?"  exclaimed  Laurence.  "Easy  deed?  Be- 
sides, what  does  it  matter  to  me?  I  will,  have  nothing 
to  do  with  the  people,  I  tell  you!  What  do  you  think  I 
care  about  what  these  savages  think  or  don't  think? 
The  Duchess  may  do  so,  but  the  Duchess  belongs  here, 
not  I!  Let  her  come,  and  I  will  go.  I  have  had  enough 
— enough  of  this  awful  country  and  its  awful  ways.  Send 
for  her.  Tell  the  women  to  pack  up  my  things  at  once. 
Prepare  Prince  Piotr.  We  go,  I  tell  you — we  go — at 
once!" 

"No!" 

At  the  sudden  cry  both  Laurence  and  Garrassime  turned 

168  • 


MOONGLADE 

with  one  impulse  to  face  the  gallant  little  figure  in  Rus- 
sian-green velvet  bounding  in  from  the  next  salon.  . 

"No!"  again  repeated  the  childish  voice.  "I  have 
heard!  I  was  looking  for  Garrassime.  I  will  not  go  and 
leave  the  sick  people  alone.  Papa  is  away,  and  now  / 
am  the  Prince!" 

The  boy's  dark  eyes  were  glowing,  and  with  his  little 
flushed  face  thrust  excitedly  forward,  his  baby  speech 
suddenly  clear  and  masterful,  in  spite  of  his  short  five 
years  of  life,  he  looked  every  inch  what  he  claimed  to  be — 
the  master  in  his  father's  absence. 

A  silent  laugh  swept  over  Garrassime's  severe  features, 
but  he  said  nothing. 

"You  wretched  child!"  shrieked  Laurence,  sweeping 
forward  as  she  spoke.  "Carry  him  to  his  room,  Gar- 
rassime, this  instant.  Well,  this  is  the  climax!" 

"Don't  you  touch  me,  Garrassime — and,  mother,  you 
keep  off."  Two  small  fists  shot  out  in  defense,  and,  quiv- 
ering all  over,  Piotr  stood  his  ground. 

With  a  choking  gasp  Laurence  paused.  This  was  the 
last  straw  for  nerves  wire-drawn  with  boredom,  and  now 
frayed  out  by  fear.  "Do  what  you  like  with  him,  Gar- 
rassime, but  send  immediately  for  the  Duchess,"  she 
cried,  and,  gathering  her  long  train  under  her  arm,  she 
fled  before  the  unspoken  contempt  of  the  servant,  the 
hatred  in  her  son's  eyes — fled  by  the  nearest  door,  running 
straight  before  her,  and  as  fast  as  she  could. 

Only  after  traversing  several  corridors  did  she  begin 
to  notice  the  unfamiliarity  of  her  surroundings,  and  real- 
ize that  her  headlong  rush  had  carried  her  far  beyond  the 
state  apartments  into  regions  where  she  had  never  as 
yet  penetrated — the  oldest  part  of  the  Castle,  disused 
now  for  many  years — a  gloomy  labyrinth  of  intersecting 
passages,  of  dark  rooms  furnished  in  the  austere  fashion 
of  many  generations  before;  somber  salons  and  ante- 
chambers and  galleries  where  faded  brocade  draperies 
12  169 


MOONGLADE 

shivered  and  rippled  in  ghostly  cross-currents  of  icy  wind. 
She  was  breathing  short,  her  feet  tripped  again  and  again 
on  wrinkled  carpets  and  rugs,  but  she  never  stopped,  for 
nervous  panic  such  as  she  had  never  known  was  clutching 
her  by  the  throat,  and  it  was  from  sheer  exhaustion  rather 
than  from  any  purposeful  intent  that  she  suddenly  broke 
her  flight  and  leaned  panting  against  a  wall. 

Where  was  she?  The  early  winter  afternoon  was  draw- 
ing to  a  close,  and  every  object  around  her  was  beginning 
to  be  shrouded  by  the  snow-footed  twilight  stealing  in 
from  without.  Great  chests  bound  with  bands  of  tarnished 
steel  lined  the  vast  oval  chamber  where  she  stood;  an- 
cient oaken  benches,  worm-eaten  and  scarred  with  age, 
were  stiffly  ranged  along  the  four  gaunt  sides  of  a  ponder- 
ous table;  the  windows  were  uncurtained,  excepting  by 
rigid  lambrequins  covering  only  the  upper  portion  of 
them  as  they  might  have  a  catafalque. 

Laurence  shudderingly  took  in  all  this,  and  her  teeth 
began  to  chatter,  not  from  cold  only  —  though  it  was 
intensely  cold  there,  where  the  benefits  of  hot-water  pipes, 
or  even  of  stoves  or  open  fires,  were  non-existent — but  from 
fear  and  apprehension  carried  to  their  highest  degree. 

"The  muniment  -  room,"  she  whispered  to  herself. 
Basil  had  spoken  of  it  once,  but  she  had  never  come  there, 
so  incurious  was  she  about  the  past  of  a  race  she  cared 
nothing  for,  excepting  in  so  far  as  it  concerned  her  own 
present  High-Mightiness  and  colossal  wealth. 

Twice  she  tried  to  steady  her  trembling  limbs — she 
knew  she  must  go  back  to  her  own  apartments  before  she 
fainted — twice  she  failed,  clutching  convulsively  at  the 
top  of  the  nearest  chest  for  support,  and  it  was  only  after 
five  minutes  of  strained  effort  that  she  succeeded  in  drag- 
ging herself  away,  step  by  shaking  step.  What  she  had 
at  first  taken  for  a  niche  in  the  wall  opened  before  her 
like  a  crafty  eye,  revealing  a  winding  stair  in  the  thick- 
ness of  the  masonry,  dusty,  gloom-filled,  and  spider- 

170 


MOONGLADE 

webbed.  Had  she  unconsciously  climbed  to  an  upper 
floor,  she  questioned  herself,  or  was  she  still  on  a  level 
with  her  own  rooms?  She  did  not  know,  nor  had  she  any 
means  of  finding  out,  especially  in  her  present  state  of 
semi-collapse,  so  she  fearfully  recrossed  the  muniment- 
room  and  glanced  down  a  straight,  narrow  gallery  which 
she  could  not  recall  having  traversed.  Night  was  creep- 
ing on  so  rapidly  now  that  once  more  terror  shook  her, 
and  sooner  than  try  that  way  she  summoned  her  remain- 
ing strength,  and,  going  back  once  more,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation  whether  to  follow  the  gut-like  spiral  up  or 
down,  she  commenced  to  descend  the  narrow  steps.  It 
must  be  in  a  tower,  she  hazily  realized,  since  there  it  was 
a  trifle  lighter,  owing  to  the  thickly  glazed  meurtrieres, 
which  reappeared  at  each  successive  winding  of  the  inter- 
minable flight.  Would  she  ever  reach  the  bottom? 
Mechanically  she  began  to  count  them  one  by  one,  lost 
the  sequence,  and  at  length  found  herself  stranded  in  a 
square  hall  that  smelled  of  mould  and  ancient  damp.  A 
faint  gray  light  showed  beyond  an  arched  doorway  on 
the  other  side,  and  toward  this  she  walked,  dragging  her 
mauve  velvets  in  the  sodden  grime,  for  even  the  weight 
of  her  train  had  grown  to  be  too  much  for  her.  Another 
minute  or  so  and  she  was  in  a  high-vaulted  passage,  open- 
ing far  down  an  endless  perspective  of  groinings  like  some 
queer  souterrain  upon  a  clearer  place — a  lamp-lit  place, 
evidently — some  sort  of  still-room  or  cellar,  she  thought, 
for  presently  she  could  see  great  casks  and  chests  along 
its  rough  stonework.  This  she  negotiated,  steering  for 
another  opening  exactly  opposite,  but  before  she  quite 
reached  that  she  heard  voices  from  beyond  a  nail-studded 
door  that  stood  ajar  on  her  right — angry  Russian  voices 
raised  in  execration  or  denunciation — she  knew  not  which, 
for  she  had  never  been  able  to  learn  Russian  well  enough 
to  follow  a  rapid  conversation,  nor  had  she  tried  very 
strenuously  to  do  so,  but  in  her  over-excited  condition 

171 


MOONGLADE 

the  whistling  syllables  became,  curiously  enough,  almost 
plain  to  her. 

"She?  Help  us?"  the  raucous,  vbdka-soaked  accents 
were  saying.  ' '  This  stranger  from  among  strangers !  Bah ! 
You  don't  believe  it,  do  you?  Did  she  ever  do  any  of  us 
a  kindness,  or  throw  us  a  look,  even?  We  are  not  as  good 
as  dogs  to  her.  But  wait,  she'll  find  us  to  be  wolves,  too, 
on  occasion.  Have  patience,  little  fathers;  our  turn  will 
come  soon  now;  and  were  it  not  for  the  Boy — for  Basil- 
Vassilidvitch,  too,  who  cares  for  us  in  his  way — when 
she  lets  him — we'd  show  her  what  we  can  do!  Let  her 
not  tempt  us  too  far,  however — or  we'll  make  her  dance  in 
the  moonlight!"  There  was  a  chorus  of  coarse  laughter, 
and  then  a  short  silence. 

Making  herself  exceeding  small,  Laurence  flattened 
herself  against  the  spring  of  the  huge  stone  arch  behind 
her.  Who  could  that  be  who  had  just  spoken  words  of 
sedition  within  Tverna  Castle?  Who  were  they  who  had 
threatened  her — and  what — what  was  that  about  "danc- 
ing in  the  moonlight  ?"  Her  servants,  the  stardstd,  mujiks, 
perhaps?  Who  could  it  have  been?  she  asked  herself. 
She  felt  that  in  another  second  she  would  ask  aloud,  and 
then  cry  out  for  help ;  and  yet  she  knew  instinctively  that 
no  sound  could  pass  her  throat,  her  parched  lips.  Sup- 
pose the  speakers  were  to  come  out  and  see  her  there — 
she,  the  abhorred  one?  Would  they  tear  her  to  pieces? 
She  scarcely  doubted  it,  and  as  noiselessly  as  she  could 
she  slipped  into  a  near-by  recess,  trying  still  further  to 
conceal  herself.  Encountering  wood  instead  of  stone, 
her  hand  groped  feverishly  for  some  means  of  escape — and, 
yes,  was  luck  going  to  be  with  her  at  last? — her  shaking 
fingers  found  a  polished  knob  which  yielded  at  her  touch. 
A  slight  creak  that  brought  the  goose-flesh  all  over  her 
for  fear  it  should  be  heard,  and  the  panel  of  a  door  receded, 
showing  a  lighted  staircase,  clean  and  garnished  for  con- 
stant use,  as  every  inch  of  it  denoted. 

172 


MOONGLADE 

With  a  wild  heart-beat  she  slid  the  panel  to  as  quietly 
as  she  could,  and  ran  with  reviving  energy  up  and  up 
and  higher  up,  until  after  a  little  she  cleared  the  last  steps 
and  found  herself  face  to  face  with  another  door.  This 
she  had  no  difficulty  in  opening,  pushed  aside  a  thick 
curtain,  and  there  was  the  state-hall  with  its  two  huge 
fireplaces,  its  fur  rugs  and  broad  divans,  its  panoplies  of 
arms,  and  tall  candelabras  shedding  their  mellow  radiance 
over  multitudinous  and  exquisite  luxuries.  At  the  farther 
end  rose  grandly  the  double  flight  leading  to  the  private 
apartments,  and  up  this  too  she  raced  as  if  hotly  pursued, 
although  all  was  silence  and  peace  and  delicious  warmth, 
from  the  heaped-up  logs  burning  rosily  on  the  twin  hearths 
to  the  broad  bowls  of  violets  and  narcissi,  roses  and  gar- 
denias, filling  the  air  with  their  delicate  fragrance. 

The  same  impulse  of  unquenchable  terror  drove  her 
to  close  and  double-lock  all  the  entrances  of  her  own 
rooms  before  letting  herself  fall  in  a  heap  upon  the  white- 
bear  rug  of  her  boudoir,  and  there  she  lay  motionless,  save 
for  a  persistent  tremor  which  ran  up  and  down  her  slim 
body  in  spasmodic  waves. 

After  a  time — it  might  have  been  an  hour,  more  or 
less — there  was  a  soft  tap  at  the  door  opening  upon  the 
main  gallery;  but  she  did  not  stir,  and  the  knock  was  re- 
peated louder,  and  then  still  more  loudly. 

"Who  is  there?"  Laurence  asked,  raising  herself  on 
one  elbow. 

"Celeste,  Madame  la  Princesse!"  fluted  the  mincing 
voice  of  her  French  maid,  one  eye  to  the  keyhole  and 
both  ears  keenly  on  the  alert.  "It  is  past  the  hour  for 
Madame  la  Princesse  to  dress  for  the  dinner." 

"Don't  bother  me!"  Laurence  called,  tremulously. 
"Allez  vous  en,  Celeste.  I'll  ring  when  I  want  you." 

The  pointed  heels  of  the  cameriste  beat  a  gay  little 
tattoo  on  the  inlaid  floor  of  the  corridor  as  she  retreated, 
and  again  there  was  silence.  Laurence  settled  down 


MOONGLADE 

again  in  the  fur,  her  head  cushioned  on  the  stuffed  bear's 
head,  her  brain  slowly  awakening  to  the  fact  that  she 
must  at  any  cost  make  good  her  escape  before  her  sister- 
in-law  arrived,  for  assuredly  the  Duchess  would  force  her 
to  remain  at  her  post  until  Basil  came  back.  Time  was 
not  lacking.  The  distance  was  great  between  Tverna 
and  Palitzinovna,  and  even  with  fast  horses  it  would  take 
hours  to  accomplish  the  trip,  especially  in  view  of  the 
severity  of  the  weather;  but  still,  had  she  not  been  so 
cramped  and  sore  from  her  recent  and  unaccustomed 
exertions,  she  would  have  begun  instantly  to  make  prep- 
arations, although  as  yet  she  had  not  the  faintest  idea 
how,  unaided,  she  could  get  away.  This  was  absolutely 
the  end  of  Russia  for  her !  Nothing  that  Tatiana  or  even 
Basil  could  do  or  say  would  alter  that  resolve.  He  could 
stay  there  if  he  wished,  or  follow  her  if  he  chose.  She 
would  leave  Piotr  in  his  aunt's  care,  and  Basil  was  wel- 
come to  keep  his  son,  should  he  prefer  remaining  in  his 
own  land.  She  did  not  care.  No,  the  worst  of  it  all  was 
that  she  really  did  not  care  a  jot  for  either  of  them,  and 
presently  her  fast-awakening  imagination  began  to  call 
forth  pictures  of  a  life  of  unbounded  pleasure  and  luxury 
for  herself  in  Paris  and  the  Riviera.  Long  days  of  dolce 
far  n-iente,  long  nights  of  amusement,  suffused  with  in- 
cessant adulation,  compliment,  praise  and  appreciation 
of  her  charms,  her  wealth,  her  beauty!  The  image  of 
Neville  Moray  gradually  detached  itself  from  this  entic- 
ing background,  and  with  a  little  gasp  of  surprise  she  saw 
before  her  new  possibilities  of  delightful  companionship, 
such  as  her  present  existence  did  not  easily  afford.  Paris, 
Monte  Carlo,  Nice,  Cannes,  Cap  Martin,  yachting  trips 
to  Algiers  or  Alexandria,  a  month  or  so  at  Trouville  or 
Deauville,  the  races,  the  petits  chevaux,  a  box  at  the 
opera,  probably  sojourns  in  Rome  during  the  season,  and 
certainly  brilliant  appearances  in  May-decked  London, 
or  on  the  Solent  later  on,  when  Royal  and  Imperial  visit-. 

174 


MOONGLADE 

ors  displayed  their  pennants  there.  All  this  made  up 
a  kaleidoscopical  jumble  which  whirled  in  her  brain  until 
she  almost  forgot  what  she  considered  her  pressing  and 
imminent  personal  danger.  Another  tap  at  the  door, 
however,  roused  her  to  reality,  and,  sitting  bolt  upright, 
she  listened. 

"Excellency!"  Garrassime  was  whispering  through  the 
keyhole.  "Excellency,  I  implore  Your  Highness  to  let 
me  in!" 

"Old  beast!"  muttered  Laurence,  furiously,  and  gave 
no  answer. 

The  pleading  voice  rose  from  a  mere  discreet  murmur 
to  a  louder,  yet  always  subdued,  entreaty,  and  at  last, 
remembering  that  she  had  better  find  out  if  her  message 
had  been  sent,  Laurence  rose  to  her  feet,  and,  noiselessly 
crossing  to  the  door,  pulled  it  brutally  open  without  the 
least  warning.  Garrassime,  the  imperturbable,  had  been, 
so  to  speak,  shaken  out  of  his  usual  calm  by  Laurence's 
variegated  doings  that  day,  and  no  wonder,  so  that  when 
brusquely  confronted  by  the  white-faced,  wild-eyed,  de- 
coijjee  woman,  who  had  hitherto  only  appeared  to  him 
perched  upon  her  faultless  elegance,  he  fell  back  with 
some  abruptness. 

"Ah,  the  poor  lamb!"  he  thought  in  his  Russian  way; 
"if  she  only  would  be  good  and  let  us  love  and  respect 
her!"  Fortunately  for  him,  she  was  no  mind-reader,  and 
the  pity  in  his  eyes  escaped  her  somewhat  muddled  powers 
of  observation,  for  when  she  spoke  it  was  with  a  hint  of 
civility  she  had  never  deigned  to  grant  him. 

"Did  you  manage  to  send  a  rider  to  my  sister-in-law, 
Garrassime?"  she  asked,  swaying  a  little  as  she  held  on 
by  one  hand  to  the  door-jamb,  for  she  was  far  from  steady 
yet. 

Garrassime  eyed  her  apprehensively.  She  did  look  bad, 
poor  lady — and  this  was  a  difficult  position  and  a  rough 
place,  after  all  was  said  and  done,  for  such  as  she. 


MOONGLADE 

"Yes,  Highness,"  he  said  in  a  humble  voice.  "Platon 
went  with  the  message  nigh  three  hours  since." 

Laurence  heaved  such  a  sigh  of  relief  that  she  actually 
tottered  on  her  tired  feet,  and,  greatly  alarmed,  Garras- 
sime  picked  her  up  like  a  baby  and,  crossing  the  room  in 
two  strides,  had  laid  her  down  on  a  lounge  before  she  knew 
what  was  happening.  Dazed  still,  but  absolutely  in- 
dignant, she  tried  to  struggle  up,  but  an  enormous  hand 
— light  as  a  feather — held  her  tenderly  back,  while  to  her 
outraged  feelings  Garrassime's  deep  voice,  coaxing  as  if 
he  were  talking  to  little  Piotr,  uttered  the  following  as- 
tounding and  unpardonable  words  in  impulsive  Russian, 
"My  daughter,  my  little  dove,  be  quiet  and  let  your  old 
servant  take  care  of  you  now,  my  pretty  lamb !" 

"That's  what  comes  of  Basil's  impossible  leniency  tow- 
ard his  people!  Impertinence!  Familiarity!  Indecent 
meddlesomeness!  Ah!  This  unbearable  pretense  of  be- 
longing to  the  family!"  thought  Laurence,  crimson  with 
fury;  and  she  wrathfully  twisted  out  of  his  gentle  grasp 
and  sat  up,  frowning  and  haughty,  on  the  edge  of  the 
lounge. 

"  Go !  And  send  me  Celeste  before  I  do  you  a  mischief, 
you  insolent  dog!"  she  cried,  pointing  to  the  door  with 
a  rigidly  extended  finger  and  the  mien  of  an  opera-bouffe 
queen  dismissing  a  slave. 

Completely  stupefied,  Garrassime  stared  at  her,  scarcely 
understanding  what  she  was  saying.  How  could  his  solic- 
itude have  offended  her?  He  raised  his  eyes  in  involun- 
tary protest;  then  he  backed  out  of  "The  Presence," 
pausing  on  the  threshold  merely  long  enough  to  make  a 
very  low  and  final  obeisance,  and  was  gone. 

A  few  minutes  later  Celeste  came  tripping  in,  her  pert 
face  alight  with  curiosity;  but  when  she  caught  sight  of 
her  lady  she  uttered  a  little  shriek  of  distress  thin  and  as 
piercing  as  a  penny  whistle. 

"But  mon  Dieu!  What  has  Madame  la  Princesse  done 

176 


MOONGLADE 

to  herself!"  she  cried,  her  large  dark  eyes  widened  to  their 
uttermost  extent. 

Laurence  rose  impatiently,  marched  to  the  door,  which 
she  double-locked,  and  returned  to  the  fire-corner,  sud- 
denly quite  cool  and  collected. 

"I  have  had  a  terrible  fright,  Ceteste,"  she  said.  "This 
is  a  dreadful  place;  not  fit  for  me  to  live  in!" 

"Ah,  Madame  la  Princesse  may  well  say  so!"  the  maid 
affirmed,  hands  and  eyes  uplifted  in  dramatic  acquies- 
cence. "Ah,  but  a  place!  A  place  of  devils  and  devil- 
ries!" she  continued,  volubly;  for  though  Laurence  so 
angrily  resented  familiarity  from  her  inferiors,  to  her  maid 
and  quasi-confidante  of  secrets  perhaps  weightier  than 
those  of  the  toilet,  she  was  decidedly  "uncorseted,"  both 
physically  and  morally.  "We  shall  all  perish  if  Monsieur 
le  Prince  keeps  us  incarcerated  here  much  longer.  And 
those  peasants,  so  ferocious,  so  savage!  Not  that  some 
of  them  are  not  good-looking  enough;  the  grooms,  too. 
Madame  la  Princesse  has  not  perhaps  noticed  the  grooms?" 

Laurence  laughed  and  shrugged  her  shoulders,  but 
without  any  indignation  whatsoever.  This  merry  daughter 
of  Provence  amused  her  even  at  this  critical  moment. 
Moreover,  during  the  last  few  minutes  a  sudden  plan  had 
formed  in  her  head:  a  plan  for  the  execution  of  which 
Celeste  might  be  a  most  useful  and  powerful  aid. 

"Don't  you  think,  Celeste,"  she  began,  a  trifle  hesitat- 
ingly— "don't  you  think  that  we  might  escape  from  here, 
you  and  I  alone,  without  anybody  being  the  wiser?" 

Celeste  drew  in  her  breath  sensationally,  and  then  let 
it  out  again  between  her  rather  pointed  white  teeth,  in 
sincere  compliment  to  a  harmonious  steam-valve.  It  was 
her  usual  method  of  expressing  surprise,  admiration,  fear, 
joy,  and  what  not  else?  There  may  be  worse  ones. 

"Decamp! — vanish!"  she  cried,  joyfully.  "What  a 
magnificent  idea!  But" — and  she  paused,  one  dimpled 
hand  to  her  lips — "how  can  we  do  it,  Madame  la  Prin- 

177 


MOONGLADE 

cesse?  The  chateau  is  guarded  like  a  caserne,  and  it's 
all  rock,  with  walls  that  thick" — here  she  illustrated  the 
thickness  of  those  walls  by  a  flight  of  both  arms  inimitably 
comprehensive  and  spaceful. 

"You  were  speaking  of  the  grooms,  whom  you  decidedly 
have  noticed,"  interrupted  Laurence.  "Tell  me  frankly, 
have  you  got  any  special  friend  among  them?" 

Celeste  immediately  fell  into  an  attitude  of  uncon- 
vincing coyness;  her  whole  diminutive  person  emanated 
a  righteousness  not  to  be  trifled  with,  but  the  tip  of  her 
retrousse  nose  moved  quaintly,  like  that  of  a  rabbit  scent- 
ing clover-laden  breezes — the  devil  was  losing  nothing — 
and  Laurence,  who  knew  her  handmaiden  by  heart, 
waited  silently. 

"Madame  la  Princesse  must  be  pleased  to  joke!"  the 
girl  began,  with  much  underlying  archness.  "A  special 
friend — an  amoureux?  Is  that  what  Madame  la  Princesse 
means?" 

"Yes,  if  you  like,  an  admirer." 

"No!  no!  Madame  la  Princesse — excepting  of  course 
that  great  lout  of  a  Fidelka,  who  makes  a  fool  of  himself 
whenever  he  gets  the  chance,  and  chooses  to  look  at  one 
with  his  big  goggle  eyes.  These  Russians — Madame  la 
Princesse  knows  well  how  they  are  when  they  see  a 
petticoat  above  a  tight-drawn  stocking — more  especially 
a  silk  stocking. ..."  And  the  bright  eyes  glanced  mod- 
estly down  at  the  trim  ankle  and  charmingly  slippered 
foot  peeping  from  the  hem  of  her  well-fitting  dark-cloth 
skirt. 

"Fidelka!  A  reassuring  name  for  you.  Faithful! 
Can  anything  speak  more  highly  for  him?  Well,  Celeste, 
do  you  believe  that  you  could  persuade  your  goggle-eyed 
pet  to  smuggle  a  sleigh  out  of  the  stables  at  sunrise  to- 
morrow, and  to  drive  us  to  the  next  post-station?  No- 
body would  dare  to  pursue  me,  I  am  sure  of  that!" 

"But  why  does  not  Madame  la  Princesse  order  a 

178 


MOONGLADE 

sleigh?  Madame  la  Princesse  is  the  lady  of  the  house; 
her  orders  are  to  be  obeyed." 

"You  don't  understand,  my  poor  Celdste,"  Laurence 
said,  with  dawning  annoyance.  "The  peasants  have  got 
an  idea  about  my  being  created  to  look  after  them — when 
they  are  sick."  And  with  what  she  deemed  a  flash  of 
genius  she  hastily  added,  "Think  of  it,  there's  typhus  in 
the  village  now;  typhus,  Celeste!" 

Strange  to  state,  however,  Celeste  did  not  pretend  to 
faint.  She  was  an  extraordinarily  vain  and  feather- 
brained girl,  but  no  coward,  and  she  merely  nodded 'her 
tiny  lace  cap. 

"Typhus!  Oh  yes!  Old  Garrassime  said  something 
of  that  to  me  a  while  ago,  but  that's  nothing.  One  must 
have  sickness  about  sometimes,  and  that  would  not 
frighten  Madame  la  Princesse,  of  course.  As  to  the 
peasants,  these  boors,  they  really  mean  no  harm;  they 
grumble  and  curse  and  swear  when  they're  drunk — and 
they're  mostly  drunk;  they're  like  our  'Reds'  at  home, 
all  brandy  and  silliness!  If  I  were  Madame  la  Princesse 
I'd  go  out  with  a  fat  dog-whip  and  slash  them  till  they're 
satisfied,  that's  the  only  way  with  such  canaille.  But 
it's  the  silence  here,  and  the  snow,  and  the  ennui  I  don't 
like.  I  love  shops  and  noise  and  electric  lamps  on  both 
sides  of  the  street,  and — " 

"O-o-o-o-h!  Never  mind  what  you  love.  Can  you 
or  can  you  not  induce  that  Fidelka  of  yours  to  take  us 
away?"  Laurence  exclaimed,  peevishly;  and  Celeste,  who 
felt  vexed  at  the  interruption,  drew  back,  pouting. 

"How  can  I  tell,  Madame  la  Princesse?  And  then 
there's  Monsieur  le  Prince  to  consider;  he'll  make  a  fine 
fuss  when  he  comes  back  and  doesn't  find  us." 

"I  don't  suppose  he  will  mind  not  finding  you!"  Lau- 
rence said,  witheringly  and  quite  tactlessly.  "So  you 
needn't  bother  about  that  part  of  it." 

This  was  going  from  bad  to  worse.  Celeste's  super- 

179 


MOONGLADE 

cilious  eyebrows  became  ominous,  and  Laurence  quailed. 
She  needed  Celeste  badly. 

"Oh,  don't  be  foolish!  I'm  only  joking!"  she  prudently 
remarked,  retreating  from  an  untenable  position  with  as 
much  grace  as  she  could  muster.  "See,  it's  getting  late 
already,"  and  she  pointed  to  a  little  traveling-clock  on  the 
jewel-table  that  was  nervously  hurrying  over  the  minute 
marks.  "Why  don't  you  go  and  try  at  once,  ma  petite?" 

Somewhat  mollified,  Celeste  smoothed  her  eyebrows 
with  a  delicate  touch.  "Eight  o'clock,"  she  consented, 
"and  Madame  la  Princesse  has  had  nothing  to  eat  since 
tea;  also  Madame  la  Princesse  looks  frightful  in  that 
bedraggled  tea-gown." 

"  Never  mind  the  gown.  Tell  me,  Celeste,  can  you  slip 
out  to  the  stables?  The  men  must  just  have  had  their 
supper.  You'd  find  that  Fidelka,  perhaps!" 

The  girl  did  not  move.  She  had  a  habit  of  instantly 
repaying  any  small  roughness  meted  out  to  her  by  the 
lady  she  served  without  love.  She  rather  fancied  seeing 
her  on  a  silver  gridiron,  and  the  clock  was  still  racing  to 
the  accompaniment  of  a  wee  musical  tick,  very  enervating 
to  hear. 

Laurence  was  beaten!  She  would  not  beg,  she  could 
not  order  after  the  recent  laxity  of  her  talk,  and  quickly 
she  unfastened  a  circlet  of  large  turquoises  from  her  slen- 
der wrist.  "Catch !"  she  cried,  with  assumed  gaiety,  toss- 
ing the  trinket  to  the  girl. 

Dexterously  Celeste  caught  it  in  mid-air,,  and  looked  at 
it  thoughtfully. 

"Madame  la  Princesse  is  going  to  undress?"  she  asked, 
demurely. 

"Why — no!  It's  for  you!"  responded  the  inwardly 
boiling  Laurence. 

"A  bribe!"  Celeste's  voice  was  flute-like.  "Madame 
la  Princesse  is  too  good.  I  do  not  deserve  it!" 

'But  you  do,  Celeste — I  mean  a  small  present — since 
180 


MOONGLADE 

you're  going  to  help  me,  you  and  your  handsome  admirer. 
No,  don't  put  it  away;  keep  it.  I'm  sure  it  will  look  well 
on  your  arm." 

"So  do  I,  Madame  la  Princesse,"  Celeste  admitted, 
carelessly  dropping  the  jewel  in  the  transparent  pocket 
of  her  absurd  lace  apronlet.  "If  Madame  la  Princesse 
insists,  I  must  naturally  accept  it.  And  now  I  will  try 
to  sneak  out  with  a  shawl  over  my  head  like  the  peasant 
women  here;  but  it's  only  to  please  Madame  la  Princesse, 
because  that  Fidelka  may  not  be  alone,  and,  of  course,  I 
can't  compromise  myself  before  the  other  men." 

"Here,  put  on  my  hooded  fur  cloak!"  Laurence  ex- 
claimed, rising  as  though  to  fetch  it  herself — she  was  ap- 
parently willing  to  drain  the  cup  to  its  bitterest  dregs. 

"Madame  n'y  pense  pas!"  remonstrated  Celeste.  "I'll 
be  back  in  a  moment,  and  Madame  la  Princesse  must 
lock  the  door  behind  me,  for  fear  the  second  or  third  or 
fourth  maid  should  happen  round.  En  voila  des  arias!" 
she  concluded,  with  a  funny  twist  of  the  shoulders  as  she 
left  the  room. 

As  soon  as  she  was  gone  Laurence  got  up,  went  into 
her  bedroom,  and,  taking  a  diminutive  bunch  of  keys 
from  her  pocket,  shifted  the  arras,  disclosing  a  narrow 
steel  panel,  which  after  some  incantation  of  an  arith- 
metical nature  she  got  open.  Behind  a  second  fire-proof 
door,  farin  upon  ecrin  stood  revealed,  and  these  she  pre- 
cipitately opened.  From  a  side-shelf  of  metal  she  brought 
forth  a  broad,  flat  reindeer-leather  bag,  hanging  from  a 
practically  unbreakable  belt,  and  hurriedly  thrust  into 
its  many  snug  compartments  the  greater  part  of  the  jewel- 
safe's  contents.  Emeralds,  rubies,  pearls,  sapphires,  but 
especially  diamonds — strings  and  rivers  and  clusters  of 
diamonds — sparkled  through  her  busy  fingers  and  dis- 
appeared. Then  she  plunged  her  hand  farther  into  the 
recess,  and, drawing  out  a  thick  packet  of  large  bank-notes, 
stowed  them  away  by  themselves  in  a  separate  pocket. 

181 


MOONGLADE 

One  move  more,  and  with  a  click  a  secret  drawer  flew 
open.  From  this  Laurence  snatched  a  square  linen-lined 
envelope  full  of  letters,  pressed  it  almost  mechanically 
to  her  lips,  and,  slipping  it  beneath  the  notes,  pulled  up 
her  skirt,  fastened  the  belt  tightly  around  her  slender 
waist,  and,  having  put  everything  in  order,  returned  to  the 
boudoir. 

She  was  just  in  time  to  hear  Celeste's  tap,  and  opened 
instantly. 

"Well?"  she  asked. 

"Bien!  Madame  la  Princesse!  Trh-bien!  Fidelka 
was  lounging  in  the  saddle-room — and  for  a  consideration 
he'll  do  it!" 

"How  much?"  demanded  Laurence,  unconsciously 
touching  the  leather  bag  beneath  her  crumpled  velvets. 
"What  have  you  paid?  How  much?"  she  repeated. 

C61dste,  who  stood  behind  Laurence,  busily  unclasping 
the  hooks  of  her  tea-gown,  laughed  a  mischievous  laugh. 

"A  great  deal — a  great — great  deal!" 

"But  how  much?"  repeated  Laurence,  vainly  trying 
to  look  over  her  shoulder  at  the  little  maid. 

"Madame  la  Princesse  needn't  worry,"  the  latter 
gurgled,  "nor  does  Madame  la  Princesse  owe  me  any- 
thing." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  paid  from  my  own  private  treasury." 

The  soft  dress  had  just  fallen  to  the  ground  in  a  crushed 
circle  about  Laurence's  feet,  and  Celeste's  face,  as  she 
bent  down  for  it,  was  pink  as  a  June  rose. 

' '  Kisses !"  exclaimed  Laurence.     ' '  Only  kisses  ?' ' 

"But  that's  a  great  deal.  Though  I  would  have  given 
even  more  to  serve  Madame  la  Princesse. ' '  And  gathering 
fur  and  velvet  into  her  arms,  Celeste  rushed  into  the  ad- 
joining bath-room,  where  a  moment  later  she  was  noisily 
turning  on  both  taps. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

For  pulling  Incompetence  out  of  the  mire 
Your  guerdon  is  Hatred,  and  nothing  higher. 

"WHAT  time  is  it?"  the  Duchesse  de  Salvieres  asked  as 
best  she  could  through  her  face-coverings,  of  the  man  who 
sat  beside  her  in  the  flying  sleigh,  so  enveloped  in  furs 
that  he  looked  like  a  bear. 

Fadei,  first  coachman  of  Madame  de  Salvieres,  and,  as 
she  was  wont  to  say,  an  old  friend  of  her  childhood — a 
statement  that  would  certainly  have  horrified  Laurence — 
cast  a  speculative  glance  toward  the  night-sky  and  the 
stars,  sparkling  icily  above  the  lane  of  snow  between  the 
two  walls  of  trees,  and,  bending  sideways,  he  called  out 
with  perfect  certainty,  "Five  o'clock,  Highness!" 

Tatiana  snuggled  her  head  again  into  her  double  hood, 
and  for  the  first  time  touched  the  middle  horse  with  her 
whip,  which  she  immediately  replaced  in  its  socket,  for 
she  was  driving  with  both  hands  outstretched  as  the 
yemshiks  do,  and  straight  ahead,  avoiding  the  finesses  to 
which  fingerless  fur-lined  gloves  do  not  lend  themselves. 

"Barine,"  a  stallion  of  extraordinary  beauty  and  cor- 
responding fire,  sprang  forward,  dragging  his  two  running- 
mates  with  him,  so  that  the  pace  became  terrific.  Bend- 
ing over  the  rigid  bar  of  the  leather  apron,  Tatiana  en- 
couraged the  horses  by  an  occasional  shrill  whistle,  which, 
coming  through  her  mask,  had  a  peculiarly  alarming  sound, 
and  although  twice  Fadei  had  ventured  an  imploring  hand 
upon  her  sleeve,  she  refused  to  relinquish  the  ribbons  to 

183 


MOONGLADE 

him.  It  seemed  to  her  somehow  that  were  she — as  she 
termed  it — "not  at  the  wheel,"  her  impatience  to  arrive, 
great  as  it  already  was,  would  be  doubled.  A  night  drive 
through  her  forests  in  winter  was  no  novelty  to  her,  and 
besides  she  was  extremely  anxious,  for  with  the  natural 
exaggeration  of  messengers  in  general  and  himself  in  par- 
ticular, Platon  had  made  the  most  of  his  evil  news,  and, 
to  hear  him,  Tatiana  might  have  believed  that  her  nephew 
and  sister-in-law  were  on  the  point  of  being  put  to  the 
torture  in  short  order.  Of  course  she  did  not  credit  all 
that  had  been  reported  to  her;  but  still,  knowing  Lau- 
rence as  she  knew  her  now,  and  also  the  mood  of  the  Tver- 
na  peasantry  ever  since  Basil's  unpopular  marriage,  she 
could  not  but  feel  far  from  reassured,  and  her  hurry  was 
well-nigh  desperate. 

Luckily  the  storm  blowing  at  the  beginning  of  the  night 
had  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  had  started,  and  from  the 
hour  of  her  departure  from  home,  a  brilliant  moon  had 
slid  steadily  down  the  slope  of  the  steel-blue  Heavens, 
diffusing  a  grateful  silver  effulgence  aslant  the  forest 
roads.  Also  there  was  a  pallid  aurora  pulsating  to  the 
north,  somewhere  behind  the  tree-screen,  mounting  and 
descending  in  gold-shot  primrose  billows  that  were  re- 
flected from  aloft,  and  shed  an  intermittent  glamour  upon 
the  sleeping  world. 

"What  folly  is  that  woman  not  capable  of!"  reflected 
Tatiana.  "Platon  spoke  of  her  wanting  to  run  away 
with  Garrassime  and  Piotr!  That  really  would  be  the 
climax,  and  in  such  a  case  the  people  might  be  hard  to 
deal  with." 

On  and  on  flew  the  sleigh,  swift  as  a  swallow  skimming 
over  water,  and  pretty  nearly  as  silent;  for  Tatiana  was 
driving  without  bells,  and  the  whispered  "zzzzipp"  of 
the  smooth  runners  was  scarcely  audible  at  such  a  speed. 

Hours  seemed  to  pass  like  this,  however.  With  un- 
erring knowledge  Tatiana  threaded  path  after  path,  never 

184 


MOONGLADE 

slackening  to  consult  the  large  numerals  painted  on  white 
boards  that  indicate  the  way.  She  knew  it  by  heart. 
At  last  the  trees  began  to  thin.  Long  since  she  had  passed 
from  her  own  land  into  her  brother's,  and  verst  had  suc- 
ceeded verst  without  a  break.  If  it  was  necessary  to  kill 
the  horses,  she  would  unhesitatingly  do  so,  dearly  as  she 
loved  them,  for  her  one  idea  was  Piotr,  Basil's  beloved 
boy,  and  she  must  be  there  before  some  rash  move  on 
Laurence's  part  could  arouse  the  mujiks  and  bring  about 
much  trouble. 

The  red  awakening  of  a  new  day  had  but  just  flamed 
up  in  the  east  when  she  glimpsed  from  afar  the  first  isba 
of  the  village;  here  and  there  a  patch  of  brilliant  color 
caught  her  keen  gaze,  and  she  remembered  that  this 
was  Sunday,  when,  winter  or  summer,  the  folk  don  their 
finest  costumes  to  go  to  early  church.  And  then  of  a 
sudden  she  saw  a  crowd  of  people  surrounding  something 
she  could  not  quite  distinguish.  There  were  arms  raised, 
thrashing  the  icy  air,  and  as  she  drew  nearer,  the  sound 
of  angry  voices  mounting  to  a  dull  roar  that  penetrated 
even  the  heavy  furs  of  her  head-covering.  Leaping  to 
her  feet,  Tatiana  lashed  her  horses  savagely,  while  Fade"i, 
grasping  her  knees,  steadied  her  in  an  agony  of  fear  lest 
she  should  be  dragged  over  the  apron-bar  and  thrown 
headlong  beneath  the  flying  hoofs  of  the  animals,  who, 
quite  unaccustomed  to  such  severe  treatment,  were  now 
running  away  for  fair.  Cries  and  imprecations  greeted 
the  reckless  dash  through  the  crowd,  but  little  did  Tatiana 
heed  whom  she  upset,  for  she  had  caught  sight  of  another 
sleigh  pitching  and  tossing  in  the  most  amazing  fashion 
right  ahead  of  hers  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  its  horses 
struggling  with  a  cluster  of  vociferating  men  hanging  to 
their  heads,  its  driver  prone  on  his  face  in  the  snow,  blood 
trickling  from  his  forehead,  and  huddled  amid  fur  robes 
and  rugs  two  women  clinging  to  each  other. 

"Burn  the  coward!  Burn  the  coward!  Drag  her  out! 
13  185 


MOONGLADE 

She's  a  bad  woman,  an  evil  witch!"  yelled  the  mob,  mill- 
ing round  the  sleigh.  "She's  running  away  from  the 
Prince!  She's  deserting  Prince  Piotr!  The  villain! 
Enough  of  her!  Into  the  oven  with  her!"  clamored  the 
women  in  their  red  petticoats  and  mitre-like  coiffures 
broidered  with  gold  and  silver  and  little  pearls. 

Ghastly  white,  her  bashlik  fallen  from  head  and  face, 
Laurence,  absolutely  maddened  with  terror,  clung  to 
Celeste,  expecting  the  end  at  every  second.  The  little 
maid  held  her  tight,  rocking  in  unison  with  every  plunge 
of  the  horses,  every  pitching  of  the  sleigh,  but  still  game. 

Tatiana  pulled  up  with  a  violent  jerk — reinforced  by 
Fadei,  who  had  seized  the  loops  of  the  reins  from  behind — 
and,  tearing  the  fur  mask  from  her  face,  she  jumped  to 
the  hard,  frozen  ground. 

"Back!"  she  cried,  in  a  voice  that  could  be  heard  to 
the  limits  of  the  crowd.  "Back!  In  the  name  of  the 
Czar!  Do  you  all  want  to  go  to  Siberia?" 

There  was  a  sudden  recoil — the  people  tumbling  af- 
frightedly  over  one  another,  horrified  at  what  they  had 
done.  The  nearest  fell  on  their  knees  before  her  in  the 
trampled  snow,  or  groveled  like  animals  upon  their  faces, 
some  trying  to  get  at  her  hands,  others  clutching  at  the 
hem  of  her  skirt,  to  kiss  it.  "Our  Princess!  Our  own 
Princess!"  they  cried.  "Take  the  worthless  one  away! 
Give  us  our  own  Princess !"  Delirium  was  rampant,  emo- 
tions of  every  imaginable  kind  alive  and  writhing,  but 
Tatiana  was  the  very  person  to  deal  with  such  a  crisis. 
In  a  trice  she  had  freed  herself  from  all  those  imploring 
hands,  cuffing  a  few  heads  with  a  quick  "Get  out  of  the 
way,  FSdor-Ivanovitch!  Here,  you  Andrei-Petrovitch, 
quit  howling !  Anna-Ste'fan6vna,  you'll  get  something  for 
yourself  if  you  don't  look  out !  Shame  on  you  silly  sheep ! 
How  did  you  dare?  Where  are  you,  starostdf  What  do 
you  mean  by  letting  such  an  outrage  be  done?"  etc.,  etc., 
etc.,  until  she  reached  the  half -overturned  sleigh  and 

186 


MOONGLADE 

Laurence,  who  at  the  first  sign  of  help  had  fainted.  -  It 
took  Tatiana  little  time  or  trouble  to  have  her  removed 
to  her  own  sleigh,  and  to  drive  her,  together  with  Ce"- 
leste — very  pale  but  quite  calm — back  to  the  Castle,  fol- 
lowed by  uproarious  demands  for  forgiveness  from  the 
repentant  and  frightened  multitude. 

An  hour  after  her  descent  upon  this  scene  of  disorder 
there  was  no  longer  any  sign  of  confusion,  either  in  the 
village  or  at  the  Castle,  where  she  had  found  the  servants 
huddled  in  every  corner,  trembling  with  fright,  and  Gar- 
rassime,  almost  beside  himself  with  wrath  and  indignation, 
mounting  guard  over  Master  Piotr,  who,  it  appeared,  was 
determined  to  take  the  law  into  his  own  hands  and  go 
and  thrash  everybody  without  further  delay.  From  Gar- 
rassime  the  Duchess  learned  that  before  any  one  was 
astir,  Fidelka,  Celeste's  admirer,  had  brought  round  to 
a  side  entrance  a  sleigh  and  pair,  in  which  the  Princess 
and  her  maid  had  taken  their  places.  It  was  just  at 
sun-up,  and  a  few  moments  later  Garrassime  had  been 
awakened  at  his  post  across  the  door  of  his  unruly  young 
charge's  room  by  a  breathless  groom  running  in  to  report 
the  flight  of  the  Princess.  He  (Garrassime)  explained 
that,  having  opened  a  window,  he  had  seen  the  people 
gathering  in  masses  upon  the  street  below  the  rock,  and 
had  even  heard  shrieks  upon  shrieks  as  soon  as  the  run- 
aways had  come  into  view;  but  that  he  could  not  leave 
Prince  Piotr  for  a  moment,  for,  having  been  aroused  by 
the  groom's  story,  the  boy  had  behaved — begging  her 
Excellency's  pardon — like  a  young  devil!  Ah,  he  had 
blood,  had  the  little  Seigneur!  Heaven  be  praised,  he 
had  blood !  And  just  then,  as  if  to  demonstrate  the  truth 
of  this  greatly  understated  report,  Piotr  himself  afforded 
his  aunt  evidence  that  left  nothing  to  be  desired,  by 
creating  an  uproar  of  singular  power. 

At  last,  having  summoned  the  starbstd  and  called  him 
severely  to  account,  declaring  to  him  that  she  would  send 

187 


MOONGLADE 

for  a  sotnia  of  Kossaks  should  he  prove  incapable  of  keep- 
ing his  people  quiet — a  terrible  menace  indeed — Tatiana 
swallowed  a  hasty  breakfast,  and  then  bent  her  calm  and 
inexorable  steps  toward  Laurence's  room. 

She  found  that  young  lady  sitting  in  front  of  a  roaring 
log-fire,  wrapped  in  a  gallant  neglige  of  the  most  daintily 
flowered  silk,  her  hair  in  unbound  glory,  and  on  her  face 
an  expression  of  almost  fiendish  ill-temper.  As  her  sister- 
in-law  entered  she  rose  and  bowed  slightly,  omitting,  no 
doubt  by  an  oversight,  to  thank  her  for  the  timely  arrival 
to  which  she  probably  owed  her  life.  Indeed,  her  attitude 
was  that  of  an  unjustly  accused  and  badly  treated  prisoner 
standing  before  his  judge,  rather  than  that  of  a  grateful 
relative  receiving  her  rescuer. 

"I  am  sorry  you  had  such  a  bad  time  of  it  this  morn- 
ing," Tatiana  said,  pleasantly.  "If  you'll  allow  me  to 
do  so,  I  will  sit  down  and  talk  the  matter  over  with  you 
a  bit."  And  suiting  the  action  to  the  words,  she  pos- 
sessed herself  of  a  chauffeuse  at  the  other  side  of  the  hearth 
and  looked  steadily  into  Laurence's  sulky  eyes. 

"There's  nothing  to  discuss,"  the  latter  said,  shortly, 
dismissing  Celeste  from  the  room  with  a  nod.  "I  sent 
for  you  to  protect  me  from  infuriated  beasts  to  whose 
ways  you  are  better  used  than  I.  I  am  obliged  to  you 
for  coming  so  promptly.  That  is,  I  think,  all  there  is  to 
be  said." 

Tatiana,  gazing  into  the  dancing  flames,  smiled.  She 
had  not  expected  to  find  her  brother's  wife  in  a  chastened 
mood,  and  was  not  disappointed.  As  to  gratitude,  she 
well  knew  that  this  quality  would  be  lacking  from  any 
and  every  thought  of  this  surprisingly  heartless  girl. 

"I  am  glad  I  was  in  time,"  she  quietly  remarked. 
"Our  peasants,  however,  are  not  beasts,  though  they  are 
apt  to  become  a  little  too  impulsive  when  egged  on — and 
there  is  no  doubt  that  they  are  being  periodically  egged 
on — by  an  ever-increasing  horde  of  professional  agitators; 

188 


MOONGLADE 

also  they  require  a  firm  and  kind  hand  on  the  reins  at 
any  season.  This  being  so,  I  am  afraid  you  acted  un- 
wisely when  you  refused  to  interest  yourself  in  their 
welfare." 

"Why  should  I  interest  myself  in  their  affairs  at  all?" 
Laurence  asked,  with  surprising  disdain.  "I  see  no  rea- 
son why  I  should." 

"  Perhaps  you  forget  that  it  is  your  duty  to  do  so,"  was 
the  disconcerting  reply.  "When  you  married  my  brother 
you  did  so  with  your  eyes  open.  He  did  not  conceal  from 
you  that  the  condition  of  his  peasants  was  very  near  his 
heart.  I  know  that  he  went  so  far  as  to  disclose  to  you 
the  various  generous  plans  he  has  formed  for  checking 
the  general  spirit  of  unrest  fostered  by  the  imported — I 
advisedly  say  imported,  since  most  of  it  comes  from  Ger- 
many— revolutionary  literature  and  revolutionary  coun- 
sels, that  will  hi  time  cause  irreparable  harm.  So  I  fear 
that  either  you  should  have  accepted  the  bitter  with  the 
sweet  and  helped  him  in  his  self-imposed  task,  or  else 
refused  to  share  a  high  position  and  high  ideals  you  felt 
yourself  unable  to  attain." 

"I  do  not  see  that  at  all!"  declared  Laurence. 

"You  do  not!  That  is  obvious;  but  the  hour  has 
come  when  you  should,  however." 

"Do  you  imagine,"  Laurence  exclaimed,  shifting  the 
issue,  "that  it  is  agreeable,  whenever  one  shows  oneself 
outside  one's  own  castle  grounds,  to  hear  the  contemptu- 
ous '  Tfou!' — whatever  that  means — spat  at  you,  even  by 
the  children?" 

"I  cannot  tell  you  how  it  feels,  never  having  been  sub- 
jected to  any  insult,  great  or  small." 

"Of  course  you  are  of  this  country.  They — the  mujiks 
I  mean — belonged  to  you  when  they  were  serfs — so  they 
like  and  respect  you." 

"Which  speaks  very  well  for  us  ex-serf  owners,  if  you 
will  allow  me  to  say  so?" 

189 


MOONGLADE 

"Possibly.  I  don't  try  to  deny  it.  But  I  have  never 
been  a  slave-driver,  and  lack  all  knowledge  of  the  ropes." 

Tatiana  gave  vent  to  a  curt  laugh.  "Slave-driving 
would  not,  I  think,  be  quite  out  of  your  line,  my  dear; 
but  let  that  pass.  There's  no  need  for  us  to  quarrel. 
In  any  case,  I  do  not  quite  understand  what  you  are  try- 
ing to  get  at!" 

"Plainly  spoken,  I'm  trying  to  get  at  this:  I  want  to 
go  away  from  here,  once  and  for  all,  and  I  hope  you  will 
not  interfere  with  my  doing  so." 

"I  shall  most  certainly  do  nothing  to  help  you  in  that 
respect!"  Tatiana  replied,  bending  forward  to  rub  her 
hands  at  the  fire,  for,  what  between  driving  and  cuffing, 
her  fingers  were  still  rather  stiff  and  sore. 

"Why  not?"  questioned  Laurence,  tilting  her  nose 
impertinently. 

"Because  in  this  benighted  land  we  still  believe  in  the 
wife's  being  subject  to  her  husband,  or  at  least  in  her 
awaiting  his  advice  before  hazarding  some  such  step  as 
you  propose.  Basil  is  away,  and  in  his  absence  and  that 
of  our  other  brothers,  I  am  the  Head  of  our  family  here; 
therefore  I  refuse  to  concur  in  such  an  action  on  your 
part,  should  you  again  attempt  to  bolt." 

"Then  am  I  to  understand  that  you  propose  to  become 
my  jailer  in  your  brother's  stead?" 

This  time  Tatiana  laughed  heartily.  The  idea  of  Basil 
in  the  character  of  his  wife's  jailer  amused  her.  "  Don't 
talk  nonsense!"  she  said,  still  laughing.  "You  are  over- 
wrought, or  you  would  see  the  absurdity  of  your  conten- 
tion. I  did  not  come  here  of  my  own  volition.  You 
sent  for  me,  and  leaving  my  husband  and  my  children  at 
a  second's  notice,  I  literally  flew  to  your  rescue.  But  if 
you  expect  me  to  become  your  accomplice  in  a  dire  piece 
of  folly,  you  have  reckoned  without  your — guest;  that's 
all  there  is  about  it!" 

She  gently  beat  her  hands  together  to  aid  the  circula- 

190 


MOONGLADE 

tion,  drew  back  on  her  seat,  leaned  luxuriously  amongjts 
cushions,  and  waited  for  an  answer. 

"Do  you  pretend  to  prevent  me  from  leaving  Tverna?" 
Laurence  demanded,  insolently.  She  was  reaching  a  dan- 
gerous point  of  exasperation,  and  as  she  glanced  at  her 
sister-in-law  her  eyes  were  at  once  furtive  and  full  of 
revolt. 

"Oh!  Yes!"  the  latter  replied,  unconcernedly.  "Yes, 
decidedly,  until  Basil  returns.  Then  it  will  be  his  affair 
to  deal  with  the  situation." 

"By  what  means  do  you  intend  to  coerce  me  into  re- 
maining here,  if  I  don't  wish  to?"  Laurence  inquired,  her 
nose  high  in  the  air. 

"By  extremely  reasonable  ones.  To  begin  with,  I 
propose  to  show  you  how  ill-advised  it  would  be  for  you 
to  defy  Basil's  authority." 

"Meaning  what?" 

"Plainly,  my  dear,  that  he  would  not  for  an  instant 
countenance  your  taking  the  law  by  storm  in  so  unseemly 
a  fashion.  You  have  been  frightened,  I  understand,  by 
some  report  of  sickness  in  the  village,  whereupon,  against 
the  direct  counsels  of  a  man  who  was,  so  to  speak,  here 
to  guard  you  and  poor  little  Piotr,  you  attempted  to  de- 
camp. The  people  with  unpraiseworthy  hastiness  gave 
you  a  taste  of  their  mettle.  I  profoundly  regret  it.  But 
now  you  have  nothing  to  fear.  I  am  here  and  will  stay 
with  you  as  long  as  there  is  the  faintest  risk  of  further 
trouble.  To-day,  moreover,  I  shall  communicate  with 
Basil  and  recall  him.  If  he  cannot  come  at  once  I  will 
prolong  my  sojourn,  greatly  against  my  own  wishes,  and 
in  the  mean  time  I  ask  you,  as  a  sensible  woman,  to  make 
the  best  of  it,  and  not  to  bother  me  too  much.  That,  I 
believe,  is  all  I  have  to  say!" 

"Supposing  I  don't  obey  your  orders?"  Laurence  cried, 
defiantly. 

"Don't  let  us  suppose  anything  of  the  sort!"  countered 

191 


MOONGLADE 

Tatiana.  "Besides,  I  beg  you  to  observe  that  so  far  my 
orders  have  been  mere  advice.  But  wait  a  minute." 
She  rose,  touched  the  bell,  and  sat  down  again,  utterly 
disregarding  Laurence's  ferocious  gaze. 

"Celeste,"  the  Duchess  said,  quietly,  as  that  gay  per- 
son answered  the  summons,  "I  want  to  say  two  words 
to  you." 

"I  am  at  Madame  la  Duchesse's  orders,"  the  dauntless 
Provencale  murmured,  dropping  a  very  finished  little 
courtesy. 

"  Madame  la  Princesse,  as  you  know,  has  been  greatly 
upset  by  reports  from  below  there,"  and  she  nodded  in 
the  direction  of  the  village,  "about  some  contagious  ill- 
ness or  other.  She  needs  quiet  and  the  best  of  care. 
This  morning's  incident  was — er — regrettable,  but  hap- 
pily no  harm  was  done,  excepting  to  Fidelka's  silly  pate — 
an  accident  he  richly  deserved.  Moreover,  he'll  get  over 
that  in  a  day  or  two.  Let  me,  however,  warn  you,  C6- 
leste,  that,  devoted  as  you  are  to  your  mistress,  you  must 
see  how  wrong  it  would  be  of  you  to  get  her  into  any 
more  scrapes.  You  conducted  yourself  very  well  a  while 
ago.  You  are  brave.  I  like  that." 

"It  is  Madame  la  Duchesse  who  is  brave!"  burst  forth 
Celeste,  who  had  been  quite  carried  away  by  Tatiana's 
masterly  entr$e-en-scbne.  "Brave  as  a  lion!  It  was  mag- 
nificent to  witness  Madame  la  Duchesse's  boxing  of  their 
ears!" 

Tatiana  laughed  her  spontaneous  laugh,  willingly  over- 
looking the  girl's  lack  of  deportment.  She  could  see 
that  she  too  was  over-excited,  which  really  was  not 
surprising. 

"  I'm  glad  you  liked  it !"  she  said,  simply.  "  They  prob- 
ably didn't!  And  for  the  present  please  abandon  your 
warlike  propensities.  Everybody  is  going  to  behave  here 
now,  and  in  a  few  days  the  Prince  will  be  back.  Mean- 
while take  the  greatest  possible  care  of  your  mistress. 

192 


MOONGLADE 

You  can  go!"  she  added,  and  the  gesture  with  which  she 
dismissed  her  made  Celeste  mutter  as  she  went: 

"Bravo!  there's  one  who  has  no  cold  in  her  eyes!  Sa- 
pristi  !  She's  the  genuine  article,  this  Duchess,  with  her 
boyish  ways  and  her  big,  laughing  eyes.  One  might  love 
this  one  pour-tout-de-bon!" 

"You  are  making  yourself  at  home!"  sneered  Laurence 
as  soon  as  the  door  had  closed  again. 

"That's  precisely  what  I  came  for!"  replied  Tatiana. 
"And  so  should  you — if  I  may  continue  to  advise — seeing 
that  this  is  your  own  hearth  and  fireside,  after  being  mine 
for  fifteen  years — the  age  at  which  I  had  the  luck  to  marry 
my  dear  Jean-sans-peur." 

"It's  a  long  time  ago?" 

Tatiana  got  to  her  feet  without  any  haste.  "So  it  is," 
she  admitted.  "Our  first-born  is  twenty  already,  which 
makes  me  exactly  thirty-seven.  A  ripening  time;  but 
what  matters?  We  Palitzins  are  said  to  improve  with 
years,  like  good  wine;  which  is  a  mercy,  my  temper  not 
being  always  of  the  sweetest!  I  trust  I  have  controlled 
it  satisfactorily  during  this  charming  hour,  my  dear,  but 
if  perchance  I  did  hurt  your  feelings  I  am  heartily  sorry 
for  it.  Lie  down  now  and  go  to  sleep  for  a  few  hours;  it 
will  refresh  you  immensely;  and  trust  me  to  attend  to 
everything  needful."  With  which  valediction  she  left 
the  room,  before  Laurence  had  a  chance  to  recommence 
hostilities. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Your  secret  thought,  or  foul  or  fair, 
Thrills  in  the  currents  of  the  air, 
And  oft  may  breathe  in  careless  play 
From  lips  unwitting  what  they  say. 

BASIL,  watching  by  his  godmother's  bedside  when  not 
employed  in  replacing  her  as  owner  and  personal  manager 
of  one  of  the  greatest  estates  in  northern  Russia,  felt  a 
constant  presentiment  of  evil  things  to  come.  He  could 
not  have  explained  this  sensation  had  he  been  asked  to 
do  so,  but  nevertheless  it  was  quite  strong  enough  to  op- 
press him  almost  continually  by  day  and  night. 

Vera-Nikolaievna,  Countess  Lanievitch,  had  in  her 
day  been  a  celebrated  beauty,  but  this  circumstance  had 
never  succeeded  in  spoiling  the  remarkably  clever  and  high- 
minded  woman  she  was.  Her  husband  had  fallen  at  the 
head  of  his  regiment  during  the  Russo-Japanese  war,  in 
the  course  of  which  her  four  sons,  two  in  the  cavalry  and 
two  in  the  navy,  had  also  heroically  yielded  up  their  lives. 
Left  alone  and  desolate,  the  Great  Lady  had  turned  all 
that  remained  of  tenderness  in  her  nature  to  Basil- Vas- 
silievitch  Palitzin,  who  she  claimed  was  all  that  was  left 
in  the  world  for  her  to  care  about,  and  had  made  little 
Piotr  her.  heir,  with  that  fitness  of  things  which  invariably 
brings  more  water  to  an  already  overflowing  river.  She 
had  met  Laurence  but  twice — once  at  her  own  place,  where 
Basil  had  brought  his  bride  to  be  presented,  the  second 
time  at  Petersburg,  and  the  experienced  woman  of  the 

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MOONGLADE 

world  had  immediately  formed  the  worst  possible  opinion 
of  her  beloved  godson's  marriage.  Nor  had  Laurence 
done  anything  to  conciliate  her  husband's  aged  relative. 
Stubborn,  with  that  peculiarly  impenetrable  stubborn- 
ness that  one  can  but  call  pig-headed,  having  once  made 
up  her  mind  that  she  would  hate — and  continue  to  hate — 
every  single  thing  or  person  connected  with  Russia  and 
her  new  life,  she  had  ignored  the  kindly  advances  of 
Countess  Lani£vitch,  remaining  from  the  first  strictly 
polite  and  no  more,  which  had  both  surprised  and  hurt 
the  Dowager.  Her  health,  always  delicate  since  her  great 
sorrows,  had  now  finally  given  way,  and  Basil,  filled  with 
the  greatest  apprehensions,  at  last  summoned  the  Court 
physician  all  the  way  from  Petersburg  to  look  deeper  into 
the  case.  The  great  man  came,  and  pronounced  a  far 
from  reassuring  verdict.  The  patient  might  or  might 
not  linger  for  another  year.  That  there  was  no  immediate 
danger  he  was  willing  to  assert,  but  this  was  all,  for  the 
Countess  suffered  from  heart  trouble,  and,  moreover,  com- 
plete discouragement — a  very  grave  symptom  in  a  person 
of  her  energetic  nature — seemed  to  have  overtaken  her. 

After  his  departure  Basil  had  a  long  talk  with  his  god- 
mother, who  urged  him  to  go  back  to  his  family,  for  she 
was  the  most  unselfish  of  women;  but  Basil  could  not 
make  up  his  mind  to  leave  her  until  she  had  at  least  re- 
gained some  semblance  of  strength.  It  was  then  that 
Tatiana's  message  concerning  the  late  events  at  Tverna 
arrived.  She  had  softened  the  facts,  and  put  as  little 
responsibility  upon  Laurence  as  was  compatible  with 
truth;  but  Basil,  nevertheless,  saw  clearly  that  his  im- 
mediate return  was  imperative,  and,  avoiding  to  alarm 
his  kinswoman  by  a  detailed  account  of  the  affair,  spoke 
of  trouble  with  the  peasants,  and  after  arranging  every- 
thing for  her  comparative  comfort  and  ease  of  mind  left 
her  with  much  regret. 

He  had  to  spend  some  hours  in  Petersburg  on  his  way 


MOONGLADE 

home,  and  preferring  his  club  to  his  unprepared  palace 
on  the  N£wsky,  all  swathed  in  silence,  cold,  and  brown 
holland,  he  repaired  thither  on  leaving  the  train. 

It  had  been  quite  a  time  since  he  had  been  there,  and 
he  was  received  with  genuine  enthusiasm  by  his  numerous 
friends,  who  talked  at  once  of  killing  the  fatted  calf  for 
his  benefit.  In  consequence,  he  dined  that  night  with 
half  a  dozen  men  who  had  been  his  comrades  when  he 
was  in  the  Gardes-a-Cheval,  and  in  spite  of  his  peculiarly 
unjoyful  mood  he  became,  as  the  feast  progressed,  much 
more  cheerful  than  he  had  been  for  weeks. 

"Where  can  one  be  better  than  in  the  bosom  of  one's 
patriotic  family?"  laughed  Count  Mourieff,  throwing 
himself  back  in  his  chair  as  the  coffee  was  brought,  and 
blowing  volumes  of  cigar-smoke  toward  the  heavily  gilded 
ceiling.  The  salon  in  which  the  dinner  had  taken  place 
gave  excellent  testimony  to  the  entrain  of  the  occasion. 
In  the  corners  of  the  big  room  huge  Chinese  urns  were 
crowned  with  pyrotechnic  bouquets  of  long-stemmed 
flowers;  along  the  table  windrows  of  rare  fruits  and  gaily 
caparisoned  bonbons  demonstrated  once  more  that  in 
the  very  deeps  of  his  nature  the  Russian  is  always  more 
or  less  of  a  child,  over-fond  of  sweets  and  pretty  baubles 
— blossoms  and  luxuries  of  all  sorts! 

"You  don't  miss  your  patriotic  family,  Palitzin,  you 
lucky  beggar!"  cried  Captain  Zaptine,  one  of  Basil's  most 
intimate  friends.  "You  are  too  well  provided  otherwise! 
Gentlemen,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the  others,  "this 
long-legged  animal  here  before  you  has  discovered  the 
secret  of  eternal  youth  and  happiness.  Let  us  envy  him 
with  all  our  hearts.  Do  you  remember  how  he  left  us  one 
fine  evening  at  the  camp  of  Krasnoe-Seloe  during  the  fate- 
ful season  of  nesting  and  of  love — left  us,  the  wretch,  with- 
out a  word  of  warning  concerning  his  roseate  and  orange- 
budded  plans?" 

"Did  he  at  least  bear  away  a  feather  in  his  beak  as  a 

196 


MOONGLADE 

token  of  peace  and  good  will  toward  woman?"  queried 
a  remarkably  tall  and  handsome  man  still  very  much  on 
the  right  side  of  forty,  who  was  known  far  and  wide  as 
a  hardened  misogynist,  and  wore  the  Cross  of  St.  George 
upon  his  tunic — in  commemoration,  his  compeers  al- 
leged, of  his  many  victories  over  the  dragon  as  represented 
by  the  fair  sex. 

"No;  but  he  has  come  back,  doubtless  with  an  olive 
branch  to  make  us  forgive  his  desertion.  Ah,  my  friends, 
my  dear  friends !"  cried  Zaptine;  "he  owed  us  this  apology 
for  neglecting  our  sisters  and  cousins  in  order  to  annex 
the  most  beautiful  woman  out  of  Russia!  Let  us  there- 
fore drink  to  his  ever-increasing  felicity,  now  that  he  has 
apologized." 

"I  have  done  nothing  of  the  sort!"  Basil  tried  to  assert, 
but  his  voice  was  drowned  by  laughter,  and  with  a  serio- 
comic gesture  he  sat  down  again.  And  then  there  followed 
a  general  hurrah  and  loud  calls  for  a  "monster"  punch 
to  honor  the  toast,  and  presently  the  beverage  made  its 
appearance,  flaming  like  all  the  fires  of  the  lower  regions 
in  an  immense  silver  "crater,"  embossed  with  the  arms  of 
the  club,  and  flanked  by  little  silver  bowls  marked  in 
the  same  fashion.  Without  losing  a  moment  Zaptine 
seized  hold  of  the  great  ladle  and  began  to  make  the  punch 
dance — as  he  termed  the  operation. 

"Ah!"  the  Chevalier-de-St.  George  declaimed.  "Now 
we  shall  feel  quite  at  home !  No  '  Wein,  Weib,  und  Gesang ' 
for  me!  Punch,  and  good  old  comrades  to  swallow  it  at 
command,  that's  the  only  real  thing!" 

"Pfuhh  .  .  .  h!"  retorted  Zaptine,  assiduously  stirring 
the  Vesuvius  before  him.  "  Don't  listen  to  him,  brothers; 
he  is  going  to  talk  nonsense!" 

"Nonsense!  I?  You  don't  know  me!  Is  it  nonsense 
to  deprive  oneself  of  the  anxieties,  the  troubles,  the  im- 
prisonment, and  other  delights  of  home  rule?  I  am  a 
sensible  man,  and  intend  to  remain  my  own  master,  for 


MOONGLADE 

ever  and  for  ever  —  as  in  the  old  song,  whatever  it's 
entitled.  Petticoats!  Don't  talk  to  me  of  them.  It 
makes  me  sweat  icicles  to  think  of  them!" 

"How  do  you  account,  then,"  put  in  Mourieff,  scorn- 
fully, "for  the  charming  Lesghise,  who  through  some 
miracle  worked  by  your  Honor,  finally  passed  from  the 
high  rank  of  a  Caucasian  prisoner  of  state  to  that  of 
one  of  Petersburg's  most  admired  demi-mondaines?  Eh? 
Answer  that  if  you  can?" 

There  was  a  roar  of  laughter,  in  which  even  Basil 
joined  as  frankly  as  did  the  culprit  himself. 

"Caucasus  is  Caucasus,"  he  retorted,  "and  ennui  with 
a  capital  letter  is  its  overlord.  One  is  not  responsible  for 
anything  one  does  there,  I  assure  you." 

"An  agreeable  and  eminently  convenient  theory," 
Basil  put  in.  "But  look  here;  don't  tease  him,  Mourieff; 
he  did  his  duty  gallantly  by  the  lady  in  freeing  her  from 
oppression  and  bondage,  as  also  by  affording  her  the 
chance  of  new  fields  to  conquer." 

"She  has  certainly  made  admirable  use  of  her  oppor- 
tunities! You  know  that  Grand-Duke.  ..." 

"  'Shh-sh-sh !"  resounded  from  every  side.  "Hush-a- 
by  baby!  No  personalities,  please,  especially  about  the 
Imperial  Family." 

"Well,"  grunted  Zaptine,  "it's  going  to  be  lovely  if 
we  can't  slander  the  Grand  Dukes  between  ourselves,  es- 
pecially as  in  this  case  it  would  be  quite  ancient  history. 
Last  year,  by  the  way,  the  illustrious  Lesghise  in  question 
was  on  the  friendliest  of  terms  with  a  bonny  Englishman 
who  had  more  good  looks  than  money — which  shows  that 
some  women  are  cruelly  misjudged." 

"Yes!  Of  course!  But  I  heard  that  their  friendship 
was  a  mere  blind,  a  screen,  a  laisser-courre,  as  one  might 
say." 

"A  screen?    For  whose  benefit?" 

"Some  benighted  husband's,  I  dare  say,  who  believed 

198 


MOONGLADE 

in  the  pure  and  loyal  satisfaction  of  matrimonial  life.  I 
was  assured  that  the  British  son  of  Mars,  who  is  in  the 
habit  of  obtaining  Russian  passports  at  irregular  inter- 
vals, was  not  here  for  the  beaux-yeux  of  the  Lesghise  at  all, 
but  merely  traveled  with  her  to  throw  dust  in  somebody's 
eyes." 

"Vier  Kinder,  kein  Arbeit,  und  kein  Geld,  der  kommt 
gewiss  von  Lerchenfeldt!"  parodied  Zaptine,  singing  at  the 
top  of  his  lungs.  "And  who's  the  fortunate  mortal  who 
hides  behind  one  fair  woman  in  order  to  meet  a  fairer 
one  with  more  safety?  We  must  naturally  suppose  that 
the  second  one  is  the  fairer,  else  how  would  you  account 
for  his  criminal  coldness  toward  the  screen?" 

" I  don't  remember  his  name,"  mused  Mourieff.  "Some- 
thing ending  with  a  y,  I  think.  (Diable!  but  that  punch 
is  hot !  Pour  a  bottle  of  brandy  in  to  cool  it !)  I  saw  him, 
though — the  happy  mortal,  that  is — several  times.  Pleas- 
ing chap  with  square  shoulders  and  many  inches,  soft, 
lackadaisical  brown  eyes,  a  promising  trifle  of  a  mus- 
tache, and  big,  white  teeth." 

"The  better  to  eat  you,  my  child!"  cried  Zaptine. 
"Military,  did  you  say?" 

"Of  course — could  see  it  at  a  glance;  been  drilled,  you 
know.  Came  here  as  a  private  individual,  but  was  recog- 
nized by —  Let  me  see,  who  told  me  ?  Oh,  I  remember — 
our  Colonel,  our  beloved  jewel  of  a  Colonel,  that  Cavalier 
of  Cavaliers  whom  we  glory  in  obeying,  said  the  inter- 
esting youth  was  Military  Attache*  somewhere,  somehow, 
but  mum  was  the  word — he  was  so  visibly  here  for  other 
purposes  than  to  slyly  inspect  our  frontier  defenses.  I 
met  him — not  the  Colonel — the  Don  Juan — one  after- 
noon leaving  the  upper  galleries  of  the  Gostinoi-Dvdr — 
there's  always  plenty  of  solitude  there,  for  that's  merely 
where  the  reserve  merchandise  from  below  is  kept.  He 
didn't  seem  pleased  to  see  me — pulled  the  collar  of  his 
coat  up  to  his  eyes,  and  slunk  away  with  black  guilt 

199 


MOONGLADE 

showing  in  every  line  of  his  back.  Talk  of  petticoats! 
Lord,  it  wasn't  the  Lesghise's  he — " 

Basil,  who  had  been  listening  at  first  only  with  one 
ear  and  then  with  absorbed  attention,  threw  his  cigar 
away  with  sudden  violence. 

"You're  becoming  indecent!"  he  said,  and  managed 
to  say  it  with  deceiving  indifference.  "I  think  I  will 
retire;  really,  your  conversation  is  unfit  for  my  chaste 
hearing!"  And  he  rose. 

"Hear!  Hear!  A  just  and  righteous  man  in  our 
midst!  Sit  down,  Palitzin,  and  preach  us  a  sermon. 
Let's  vote  him  a  speaking-trumpet  of  honor.  Go  on, 
Basil,  give  it  to  us.  old  boy!  We  deserve  it!  We're  a 
bad  lot,  we  are!" 

But  Basil  was  inexorable.  He  elaborately  explained 
that  he  was  forced  to  catch  his  train  at  an  unearthly  hour, 
and  that  trains  carrying  him  always  started  on  time;  so 
nolens-volens,  after  giving  him  a  regular  ovation,  they  let 
him  go,  accompanying  him  to  the  very  portals  of  the 
club  and  his  waiting  sleigh,  around  which  they  gathered, 
uttering  loud  cheers. 

The  night  was  exceedingly  cold.  A  half-congealed 
vapor  formed  a  little  cloud  around  the  nostrils  of  the 
three  horses  held  in  rein  by  his  coachman;  the  sidewalks, 
quite  recently  swept  and  powdered  with  fine  sand,  as  is 
done  again  and  again  each  day  in  Petersburg's  luxurious 
quarters,  showed  two  lines  of  pale  gold  on  either  side  of 
the  broad,  brilliantly  lighted  streets,  and  rime  lavishly 
broidered  with  innumerable  paillettes  every  roof  and  pro- 
jection sparkling  beneath  the  frigid  moon.  It  was  a 
scene  to  hearten  up  any  lover  of  the  North;  but  Basil, 
intrenched  behind  his  high  sable  collar,  was  not  enjoying 
it  as  he  should  have  done.  For  there  was  something  he 
did  not  like  slowly  taking  shape  in  his  mind. 

It  was  past  eleven  o'clock,  but  notwithstanding  this 
fact  he  gave  his  yemshik  the  order  to  drive  him  to  the 

200 


MOONGLADE 

house  of  a  friend  who  had  been  his  father's  comrade-in- 
arms, and  had  until  recently  held  the  post  of  Chief  of 
Police.  "He  has  got  into  the  habit,  while  manipulating 
the  Third  Section,  of  never  going  to  bed.  I'll  find  him 
as  wide  awake  as  a  barrelful  of  mice,"  thought  Basil, 
and  his  previsions  were  fulfilled.  "I  must  clear  up  a  point 
or  two,  otherwise  I  will  never  rest  easy  again,"  the  Prince 
was  saying  angrily  to  himself,  as  he  ascended  the  stairs; 
but  when  he  entered  the  library  where  the  General  sat 
wrapped  in  a  cloud  of  smoke,  like  a  Buddhist  image,  his 
face  was  impassive. 

"So  here  you  are,  you  rascal!"  chuckled  the  gray- 
beard,  getting  up  to  shake  Basil  warmly  by  the  hand. 
"We  never  quite  lose  our  old  habits,  and  I  knew  that 
you  had  arrived  this  morning,  the  moment  you  put  your 
foot  on  the  quay.  But  here,  what  do  you  want  of  me 
that  you  look  me  up  hi  this  way?  It  must  be  something 
important!" 

"Pardon  me,  my  dear  old  friend,"  smiled  Basil,  accept- 
ing the  comfortable  seat  indicated  to  him  by  the  General. 
"I  do  not  always  come  to  see  you  because  I  want  some- 
thing." 

"Let's  admit  that  you  do  not  always  come  for  inter- 
ested reasons,  but  your  nose  is  wriggling  as  if  upon  some 
scent  or  other,  and  so  I  conclude  that  this  is  one  of  your 
'on'  days." 

"You  are  dangerously  perspicacious!"  Basil  remarked. 
"Yes,  I  did  venture  to  disturb  you  to-night  for  some 
such  reason." 

"I  thought  so,"  laughed  the  ex-official,  who  had  been 
dreaded  above  all  his  predecessors  in  office.  "And  now 
what  is  it  you  wish  to  find  out?" 

Basil  lighted  a  cigarette,  paused  to  expel  two  or  three 
thin  threads  of  smoke,  and  then  spoke: 

"I  would  like  to  know  who  is  the  English  officer  in 
mufti  who  has  visited  Petersburg  on  several  occasions 
14  201 


MOONGLADE 

during — the  last  year  or  two,  let  us  say — to  meet  a 
woman  of  the  half -world — as  a  matter  of  fact,  a  Lesghise; 
first  Ian  fee  by — " 

"A  dashing  officer  of  the  Gardes-&-Cheval?"  interrupted 
the  General. 

"Precisely!" 

General  Ledoff  glanced  at  his  interlocutor  from  beneath 
his  shaggy  eyebrows,  then  fell  to  puffing  once  more  at  his 
enormous  pipe  with  extraordinary  industry. 

"You,"  he  said,  dryly,  "have  no  longer  the  least  busi- 
ness to  occupy  yourself  with  ladies  of  the  merrier  sort, 
my  son,  and  unless  you  give  me  a  pretty  good  reason  for 
so  doing  I  will  certainly  and  most  virtuously  refuse  to 
assist  you  in  so  unpardonable  an  enterprise.  What  do 
you  want  of  that  species  of  fallen  Princess?" 

"Nothing  of  her,  I  assure  you!"  Basil  emphatically 
declared;  "but — one  of  my  friends  is  interested  in  the 
question,  and  it  is  for  him  I  speak.  Surely  you  have 
still  means  at  your  disposal,  my  excellent  friend,  of  find- 
ing out  what  I  ask." 

"Certainly!  It  would  be  fine  if  an  ex-Chief  of  Police 
— who  managed  to  escape  the  regime  of  bombs  to  which 
all  of  us  are  subject — had  not  retained  enough  intelligence 
to  accomplish  so  slight  a  thing.  But  why  do  you  bother 
about  other  people's  love  intrigues?  Now  that  you  are 
&  Vabris  des  voitures,  as  our  amiable  allies  say.  It's  a  loss 
of  time,  and  you'll  get  no  thanks  for  your  pains." 

"I  am  not  looking  for  thanks,"  Basil  dryly  ob- 
served. 

"All  the  better  for  you.  But  you  don't  suppose  I  can 
give  you  the  information  you  seek  at  five  seconds'  notice, 
do  you,  boiling  youth?  My  head  is  no  longer  pigeon- 
holed like  a  receptacle  for  dossiers.'' 

"I  wish  you  could,  for  I  am  leaving  for  Tverna  on  the 
next  train,  and  I  do  not  expect  to  be  in  Petersburg  again 
for  some  time." 

202 


MOONGLADE 

"As  pressing  as  that  ?  Had  trouble  with  your  peasants, 
I  heard,  some  time  ago.  Nothing  very  terrible,  eh?" 

"No." 

"You  have  preserved  your  martial  curtness,  I  see. 
I'm  glad  it  wasn't  serious,  since  you  are  so  constructed 
that  you  can't  bring  yourself  to  shoot  a  few  of  them  down 
to  cool  their  blood.  Ah!  You  can  flatter  yourself  that 
your  father  and  you  were  and  are  merciful  proprietors! 
But,  mark  my  words,  my  boy,  you  will  get  your- 
self shaken  out  of  the  saddle  if  you  continue  to  ride 
without  a  martingale.  The  efforts  of  our  worthy  agita- 
tors will  be  crowned  with  success  sooner  or  later;  never 
doubt  it;  and  when  you  have  to  call  in  a  sotnia  or  two  of 
whole-hearted  Kossaks  in  order  to  prevent  murder  and 
sudden  death,  those  mnjiks  of  yours  will  rue  the  day 
when  you  gave  them  their  head  so  imprudently.  Here 
I  am,  however,  galloping  my  favorite  hobby  again,  in- 
stead of  thinking  of  your  Lesghise.  Let  me  see — an  Eng- 
lish officer,  did  you  say?" 

He  raised  himself  from  the  downy  depths  of  his  great 
arm-chair,  and  hobbled — for  he  had  a  gouty  foot — to  a 
large  safe  in  the  corner,  draped  and  concealed  beneath  a 
Persian  silk  fabric  that  had  the  bloom  of  a  ripe  plum  upon 
its  soft  folds. 

Refusing  Basil's  aid,  he  opened  the  ponderous  steel 
door,  turned  on  an  electric  bulb  near  by,  and  after  a  few 
moments'  search  returned  to  his  seat,  holding  in  his  hand 
a  thick-set  volume  bound  in  dark-green  morocco,  and  gold- 
lettered  at  the  back  "Daily  Journal." 

"Here,"  he  laughed,  "behold  the  heart  of  hearts  of  a 
police  tyrant,  the  sacro-sanctum  of  his  labors — a  precis 
of  great  and  minute  events  that  may  or  may  not  come  to 
a  head  and  endanger  the  peace  of  the  Empire!  Nobody, 
until  now,  has  ever  seen  even  the  outside  of  this  spicy 
little  work." 

Basil  inclined  his  head  to  thank  the  General  for  his 

203 


MOONGLADE 

flattering  confidence,  and  sat  immovable  while  his  com- 
panion flipped  over  the  pages  covered  from  top  to  bottom 
with  close,  small-writ  lines,  interspersed  here  and  there 
with  annotations  in  red  ink,  as  he  could  clearly  discern 
from  where  he  sat. 

Half  an  hour  passed  in  complete  silence,  Basil  lighting 
one  cigarette  from  the  butt  of  another,  the  General  poring 
tirelessly  over  his  patient  handiwork.  On  a  console  a 
large  malachite  clock — an  Imperial  gift  of  gratitude — be- 
tween two  superb  vases  of  the  same  luscious-looking  stone, 
suddenly  rang  out  an  admirable  rendition  of  the  bells 
of  St.  Isaac's,  and  Basil  listened  with  curious  attention 
and  a  sort  of  retrospective  enjoyment,  as  if  the  harmony 
belonged  to  a  happy  life  he  liked  to  have  recalled  to  him; 
but  that  had  passed  away  for  ever. 

The  final  cadences  of  the  Northern  midnight,  like  the 
soul  in  music  of  snowy  Russia,  died  away  upon  the  air 
of  the  high-ceiled  library:  a  room  stamped,  so  to  speak, 
with  the  General's  powerful  individuality  expressed  in 
bronze  and  carven  wood  and  trophies  of  arms,  gorgeous 
textiles  from  far  regions,  and  antique  tapestries;  and  the 
old  man,  with  two  fingers  between  the  pages  of  his  "  Daily 
Journal,"  suddenly  looked  up. 

"The  last  two  years  or  so,  did  you  say?"  he  asked, 
turning  his  piercing  eyes  full  on  Basil. 

"I  think  that  is  what  I  heard!"  hesitated  Basil,  who 
was  no  longer  quite  sure  of  what  he  had  heard,  shifting 
his  cigarette  from  one  corner  of  his  mouth  to  the  other. 
"I  am  not  certain,  of  course." 

"Because,"  the  other  explained,  "my  notes  record  here 
a  sojourn  of  some  duration — wait — a  sojourn  in  Peters- 
burg— four  years  ago  of — of  two  weeks.  The  young  man 
had  previously  visited  the  Crimea — or  at  least  he  came 
straight  here  from  there."  The  General  once  more  began 
to  thumb  his  little  book.  "At  that  time,"  he  went  on, 
speaking  very  slowly,  "he  had  been  only  for  a  short  while 

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MOONGLADE 

British  Military  Attache"  in  Paris.  His  name  is  Moray — 
Captain  Neville  Moray,  of  the  Grenadier  Guards.  His 
arrival  was  brought  instantly  to  my  notice,  owing  to  his 
connection  with  the  diplomatic  service.  His  passport 
had  been  obtained  for  him  under  the  plea  of  traveling  for 
pleasure.  Moreover,  he  cannot  be  very  rich,  for  he  put 
up  here  at  a  decidedly  second-rate  hotel,  made  no  calls 
on  anybody,  not  even  his  Ambassador — which  seemed 
rather  queer — and  did  not  once  use  his  official  position 
to  obtain  a  presentation  at  Court  or  to  any  of  the  Grand 
Dukes  or  the  military  authorities.  His  acquaintance  with 
the  fair  Lesghise  in  question  may  have  antedated  his  first 
trip  here,  because  she  had  accompanied  a  mutual  friend 
of  ours — let  his  name  remain  unpronounced,  for  he  is  a 
great  miscreant  and  a  delightful  man — to  Paris  a  few 
months  previously,  and  if  our  English  Lovelace  is  at  all 
lance  in  the  smart  world,  he  probably  met  her  then.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  taken  for  granted  in  our  Secret 
Service  that  he  had  come  here  on  purpose  to  follow  her. 
She  is,  as  you  know,  a  strikingly  beautiful  woman." 

Basil  had  risen,  and,  standing  with  his  face  beyond  the 
circle  of  light  cast  by  the  monumental  lamp  on  the  table, 
was  studiously  selecting  yet  another  fresh  cigarette. 

"I  never  set  eyes  on  her,  General,"  he  replied,  "and 
I  am  deeply  obliged  to  you  for  taking  all  this  trouble." 
He  waved  his  hand  slowly  before  his  face,  as  though  to 
dissipate  the  gauzy  volutes  floating  between  himself  and 
his  old  friend.  "I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you,"  he 
added,  sincerely. 

"Don't  thank  me,  my  boy.  It  has  given  me  great 
pleasure  to  dip  into  my  old  trade  again.  One  is  like  that. 
The  very  smell  of  the  harness  once  worn  is  pleasing  to 
the  nostrils.  How  it  all  comes  back  to  me !  For  instance, 
look  at  this:  I  had  utterly  forgotten  the  very  existence 
of  this  Englishman,  and  now  that  a  corner  of  the  veil 
was  lifted  by  you  a  while  ago,  I  can  see  before  me  a  great 

205 


MOONGLADE 

many  incidents  that  lay  dormant  in  an  odd  corner  of  my 
old  brain,  and,  in  particular,  a  little  tableau  that  had  its 
charms  at  the  time." 

"What  was  that?"  asked  Basil,  with  a  quick  turn  of 
the  head. 

"Oh,  a  trifle!  but  since  it  was  connected  with  our 
Guardsman,  I'll  tell  it  to  you  in  two  words.  It  was  about 
three  years  ago,  if  I  am  correct,  on  a  bitter  winter  day — 
thus  does  the  tale  begin.  Ha!  Ha!  I  am  quite  a 
raconteur  in  my  humble  way,  I  beg  you  to  observe! 
Well,  we  were  at  the  time  keeping  our  eyes  upon  a  cer- 
tain Servian  '  Prince ' — the  nerve  they  display,  those  Ser- 
vians, in  affording  themselves,  while  away  from  home, 
the  luxury  of  titles  which  do  not  exist  in  their  own 
land,  is  truly  marvelous!  But  to  proceed:  we  were,  as  I 
was  saying,  having  this  questionable  personage — er — 
watched,  in  a  discreet  fashion — you  understand — so  when 
driving  out  for  my  airing,  the  fancy  seized  me  to  go  to 
the  Botanical  Gardens.  I  had  been  informed  that  the 
'Noble'  Servian  was  in  the  habit  of  dropping  in  there 
— to  admire  the  flowers,  and  meet — quite  by  accident,  of 
course — a  friend — or  perchance  two — also  naturally  quite 
by  accident — do  you  see?  So  I  told  Yefime — you  remem- 
ber my  old  Yefime — to  drive  me  there.  From  a  good  dis- 
tance the  whole  mass  of  the  gardens  began  to  gleam  against 
the  sky  like  some  gigantic  jewel-case  open  to  the  sun-rays. 
We  had  had  a  hard  frost,  which  had  incased  every  branch 
and  twig  in  crystal — I  can  see  it  before  me  now.  I 
stopped  the  sleigh  and  passed  up  the  board  walk  lead- 
ing to  the  conservatories  beneath  those  gently  clinking 
branches,  and,  pursuing  my  idea,  I  entered  the  great  glass 
vestibule,  and  from  there  went  into  the  main  house. 
The  first  whiff  of  moist,  heavily  perfumed  air  after  that 
cruel  cold  outside — I  can  really  still  smell  it — was  a  sort 
of  voluptuous  delight,  and  I  followed  a  broad,  pebbled 
path  bordered  on  each  side  by  hedges  of  twenty-five-foot 

206 


MOONGLADE 

camellias  in  full  bloom.  You  know  the  place,  and  what  a 
joy  to  the  eye  it  is.  Precious  palms  and  tree-ferns  grow- 
ing free  to  the  very  top  of  the  cupola  . .  .  orange  and  lem- 
on colored  orchids!  Ah!  What  orchids — above  regular 
thickets  of  gardenias — a  paradise!  After  a  while  I  came 
to  the  aerial  staircase  winding  among  all  those  lustrous 
plants,  and  reached  the  top  where  it  communicates  with 
the  astounding  lacy  bridge  that  spans  the  whole  length 
of  this  particular  conservatory,  and  there  I  paused  to  lean 
a  moment  on  the  balustrade.  Just  below  me  on  the  bal- 
cony of  the  first  landing  were  two  people  standing  close 
together,  a  man  and  a  woman;  he  tall,  slimly  built,  but 
rather  square-shouldered  and  straight  as  an  arrow.  The 
collar  of  his  long  fur  coat  was  raised — in  that  heat,  mind 
you !  She,  I  could  see,  was  extremely  elegante,  and  heavily 
veiled.  Both  my  natural  and  my  official  curiosity  were 
aroused  I  confess,  and,  making  myself  as  small  as  the 
good  God  ever  permits  me  to  be,  I  bent  cautiously  and 
listened.  They  were  whispering,  and  so  absorbed  in  one 
another  that  they  had  not  heard  my  feet  on  the  metal 
steps,  and  only  a  few  disconnected  words  reached  me.  It 
struck  me  as  peculiar  that  they  were  speaking  English, 
for  I  greatly1 'doubted  whether  my  Servian  would  use  that 
tongue,  and,  even  more,  whether  he  had  ever  used  the  Bo- 
tanical Gardens  for  an  amorous  rendezvous.  His  talents 
had  appeared  to  be  entirely  political.  Perhaps  I  had  done 
him  an  injustice;  at  all  events,  I  had  decided  to  leave  him 
to  his  twitterings,  when  an  interesting  thing  happened. 
The  uniformed  guardian  who  keeps  watch  over  the  col- 
lections approached  from  below,  yawning  to  dislocate  his 
jaws,  and  the  lovers  sprang  apart  in  evident  dismay. 

"'Good-bye!'  I  heard  the  woman's  muffled  voice  say, 
and  the  echo  came  at  once: 

'"Good-bye,  my  love — my  heart  and  soul  to  you — 
always!' 

"The  sun  was  lighting  up  the  whole  place  with  extraor- 

207 


MOCDNGLADE 

dinary  brilliancy,  and  I  distinctly  saw  a  tear  splash  on  his 
gloved  hand  that  rested  on  the  edge  of  the  balcony,  as 
she  fairly  ran  for  the  opposite  staircase.  He  —  poor 
devil — remained  for  a  few  minutes  where  he  was,  his 
shoulders  rising  and  falling  queerly,  and  he  nervously 
pulled  down  his  fur  collar  as  if  he  wanted  air.  The  face 
I  saw  then,  for  a  glancing  second,  was  that  of  young 
Moray.  And  I  wondered;  because  that  Lesghise  assured- 
ly spoke  no  English,  barely  a  few  lately  acquired  phrases 
of  French,  perhaps — if  that !  Next  day  a  grave  political 
complication  drove  the  whole  thing  out  of  my  head,  and 
I  have  never  thought  of  it  since." 

"The  winter  of  four  years  ago!"  Basil  soliloquized,  and, 
recollecting  himself,  he  added  with  a  laugh:  "You  have 
a  good  memory,  General.  Fancy  recalling — even  with  a 
little  extraneous  aid — so  trifling  an  incident  after  four 
long  years!" 

The  General,  who  was  not  quite  proof  against  compli- 
ment, got  up  and  rubbed  his  hands. 

"  Eh !  Eh !"  he  cried.  ' '  It  does  not  always  follow  that 
gray  hairs  must  needs  dull  the  brain  beneath  them.  I 
could  still  have  been  of  considerable  use,  I  believe,  to 
our  Imperial  Master;  but,  as  I  happen  to  know,  he  was 
strongly  advised  to  the  contrary,  and  so  here  I  am  now, 
lazing  my  life  away,  inactive  and  growing  fat,  with  my 
ear  split  like  a  reformed  French  cavalry  horse.  But 
must  you  really  go  ?  Of  course,  now  that  you  have  wrung 
me  dry,  you  leave  me  without  a  scruple,  for  such  are  the 
ways  of  the  world.  But  you  were  always  a  cajoler,  my 
dear  Basil,  and  knew  how  to  gain  your  ends.  I  hope  that 
some  day  in  the  near  future  you  will  honor  me  with  more 
details  concerning  this  affair  of  the  English  captain,  for 
I  cannot  understand  how  you  can  be  so  interested  in  him 
as  to  waste  an  hour  over  it." 

"Waste,  General?  An  hour  spent  with  you  is  never 
wasted." 

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MOONGLADE 

"There  you  are  again!  Flattery,  vile  flattery!  Arid 
you  are  going  straight  on  from  here  to  your  beautiful 
Tverna?  Pray  place  my  homage  at  Madame  Palitzin's 
pretty  feet.  How  is  she,  by  the  way?  Upon  my  word, 
I  am  losing  my  manners." 

"She  is  very  well  as  far  as  I  know,"  Basil  replied.  "I 
am  from  my  aunt  Lani£vitch's  place;  she  is  gravely  ill, 
and  I  stayed  with  her  quite  a  while.  But  Tatiana  is  with 
my  wife  and  boy,  so  I  felt  quite  safe  about  them." 

"Give  Tatiana  my  love — my  very  dearest  love.  She  is 
the  one  woman  among  women.  Lord!  How  she  would 
scold  me  if  she  heard!  Does  she  still  fly  into  a  rage  when 
one  calls  her  a  woman?  You  remember  when  she  was  a 
little  thing,  no  higher  than  my  boot,  the  way  she  would 
behave  when  I  told  her  she  couldn't  enter  the  Corps-des- 
Pages  because  little  girls  were  never  accepted  there,  for 
fear  they  should  shock  the  young  gentlemen  of  that  great 
institution?"  And,  laughing  and  talking,  the  delightful 
old  man  accompanied  Basil  all  the  way  down-stairs,  in- 
deed, to  the  very  limits  of  his  cathedral-like  hall,  the  walls 
of  which  were  almost  invisible  for  the  collections  of  arms, 
brought  back  from  many  campaigns  on  the  confines  of  the 
grim  White  Empire  he  had  so  loyally  served. 

Basil  buried  himself  in  the  furs  of  his  sleigh  with  a 
sigh  of  utter  weariness,  but  after  a  brief  moment  he 
squared  his  shoulders  with  an  effort,  and  sat  up  again. 
His  horses  were  making  their  hoofs  ring  on  the  bridge  of 
the  Greater  Neva,  and  the  enchained  river  was  something 
to  take  even  his  brooding  gaze.  The  "catching  of  the 
ice"  had  that  year  come  on  early  and  with  a  rush,  just 
when  the  last  late  autumn  gales  were  driving  across  the 
water,  so  the  frost  had  fallen  upon  great  waves  rolling 
from  bank  to  bank,  and  solidified  them  hand  over  hand, 
as  it  were.  The  aspect  of  their  frozen  strife  had  in  it 
something  singularly  fierce  and  forceful,  which  well  ex- 
pressed the  terrifying  majesty  of  Winter  in  the  North. 

209 


MOONGLADE 

Like  a  girdle  of  multi-colored  gems,  the  electric  globes  of 
the  quays  showed  mauve  and  pale-green  and  primrose 
along  both  sides  of  the  sculptured  turmoil  of  ice,  picking 
out  sharply  the  rigid  wave-crests;  and  beyond,  beneath  a 
sky  of  pellucid  sapphire  powdered  all  over  with  twinkling 
stars  among  which  winked  and  flashed  the  bigger  con- 
stellations, the  swarm  of  golden  church  domes — images 
of  faith — looked  as  though  countless  fairy  palaces  were 
climbing  one  upon  another  toward  realms  of  the  pure 
ideal. 

The  splendidly  illumined  cross  of  St.  Isaac's  caught 
Basil's  eye  as  the  horses  sped  on,  and  he  reverently  re- 
peated its  sign  upon  his  breast.  "God  have  mercy!"  he 
whispered,  and  sat  very  still,  looking  upward. 


CHAPTER  XV 

Rest  well  assured  that  now  I  see 
Nor  shall  hereafter  blinded  be. 

"AsK  Madame  la  Princesse  if  she  can  receive  me  for  a 
moment." 

Basil,  emerging  from  his  dressing-room  where  he  had 
removed  the  stains  of  travel,  spoke  in  his  usual  quiet 
voice,  and  Celeste  courtesied  to  the  ground  without  dar- 
ing to  raise  her  eyes,  for  she  was  terribly  afraid  of  the 
Prince,  and  her  share  in  the  escapade  of  two  weeks  ago 
filled  her  with  extreme  alarm;  so  she  passed  on  ahead  of 
him  toward  Laurence's  apartments  with  suitable  haste, 
and  for  once  without  indulging  in  any  coquettishly  trip- 
ping steps. 

For  a  very  few  moments  only  Basil  waited  in  the  en- 
trance-hall, and  then  Celeste  threw  wide  the  door  of  the 
little  salon  preceding  the  bedroom  and  effaced  herself 
murmuring  in  a  subdued  voice: 

"Madame  la  Princesse  awaits  Monsieur  le  Prince." 

Inside  the  air  was  almost  stiflingly  hot  with  that  heat 
which  one  expects  to  find  only  in  forcing-houses,  and  the 
violent  perfume  of  heady  flowers  added  to  the  illusion 
and  positively  took  one  by  the  throat.  Laurence  did  not 
believe  in  the  modest  fragrance  of  violets  and  roses;  to 
please  her  blossoms  must  be  tropically  sensational  in 
scent  and  color,  erratic  of  shape  if  possible,  and  especially 
very  costly;  wherefore  the  vases  all  over  the  suite  bristled 
with  a  newly  hybridized  lily,  red  and  yellow  in  gaudy 

211 


MOONGLADE 

streaks  like  a  South-American  parrot,  and  pouring  forth 
from  their  pointed  petals  torrents  of  pungent  muskiness. 

Half  sitting,  half  reclining  on  the  piled-up  cushions  of 
her  favorite  pink  velvet  lounge,  enveloped  like  a  bon- 
bon-a-surprise  in  folds  upon  folds  of  flesh-tinted  gauze 
forming  the  most  amiable  of  princely  sauts-de-lit,  she 
awaited  her  husband  in  apparent  calm,  although  her  heart 
was  beating  uncomfortably.  She  knew  she  was  in  for  a 
scene  of  some  kind  or  other,  and  had  prepared  for  it  by 
repeating  to  herself  over  and  over  again:  "I  must  stand 
firm;  I  must  stand  firm  at  any  cost!  Men  are  afraid  of 
scenes,  even  when  they  bring  them  about  themselves." 
But  she  had  not  expected  to  find  Basil  quite  so  cool  and 
indifferent  upon  his  return  to  her  after  several  weeks, 
nor  so  unimpressed  by  the  skilful  mise-en-sc^ne  she  had 
prepared;  and  when  he  omitted  even  the  formal  hand- 
kiss  of  greeting  and  merely  bowed  before  her,  she  felt  a 
sudden  sinking  of  her  throbbing  heart,  as  if  it  were  going 
down  into  her  rose-lined  slippers — pretty  little  slippers, 
which,  with  the  accompanying  silken  ankles,  were,  as 
usual,  effectively  in  evidence. 

"You  are  not  very  effusive?"  she  faltered,  her  head 
slightly  on  one  side,  her  lovely  eyes  radiating  electric 
currents.  "After  all  those  days!"  It  was  a  favorite 
formula  of  speech  with  her,  evidently,  for  she  was  cer- 
tainly not  thinking  just  now  of  Neville  or  of  the  H6tel  de 
Plenhoel. 

Basil,  one  elbow  on  the  chimneypiece,  gazed  down  "at 
her,  totally  unmoved.  Perchance  he,  too,  had  prepared 
himself  carefully  for  this  interview. 

"You  might  never  have  seen  me  again,"  she  continued, 
raising  herself  a  little  and  pouting  up  at  him  like  a  mis- 
chievous child  who  wants  caresses.  "For  it  was  a  mir- 
acle that  I  was  saved!" 

Again  she  threw  him  a  little  appealing  glance  full  of 
pathos,  but  his  face  was  set  and  hard  as  flint,  and  sud- 

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MOONGLADE 

denly  Re*gis's  words  flashed  through  her  mind:  "//  ever 
Basil  learns  that  you  have  stepped  down  from  the  pedestal 
upon  which  he  placed  you,  he  will  be  unmerciful." 

"Why  don't  you  speak?"  she  exclaimed,  nervously  sit- 
ting up  and  letting  her  feet  drop  to  the  carpet. 

And  then  Basil  laughed,  a  short,  incisive  laugh  that 
cut  like  the  lash  of  a  whip.  There  are  some  laughs  far 
more  expressive  than  even  the  most  forceful  words,  and 
this  was  one  of  that  sort. 

"Let  me  impress  upon  you  the  advisability  of  implicit 
truthfulness  on  your  part,  Laurence,  before  we  go  any 
further  with  this,"  he  said,  coldly. 

"Are  you  going  to  be  ugly  to  me!"  she  exclaimed,  join- 
ing her  hands  together  protestingly,  "and  just  because  I 
was  afraid  of  your  murderous  peasants?  Are  you  going 
to  be  horrid,  Basil  dear  ...  to  poor  little  me?" 

Basil  gulped  down  something  in  his  throat — possibly 
the  pungence  of  those  flaring  lilies — his  arm  fell  limply  to 
his  side,  and  he  stared  at  her  in  amazement.  "You  will 
make  a  mistake,"  he  said,  slowly,  "if  you  try  to  go  on 
hoodwinking  me.  It  was  well  enough  in  the  past,  but 
that  sort  of  thing  is  done  with." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked,  flushing  crimson. 
"What  do  you  mean?  When  have  I  tried  to  hoodwink 
you?" 

"For  more  than  five  long  persevering  years.  No,  don't 
interrupt. me;  wait  till  I  have  pointed  out  a  few  things 
to  you." 

The  soft  laces  about  her  neck  seemed  of  a  sudden  to 
have  been  transformed  into  an  implacable  garotte,  and  she 
tore  at  them  with  shaking  fingers.  She  was  ashy  pale  now, 
even  to  her  stiffening  lips.  He  need  not  have  forbidden 
her  to  speak,  for  she  could  not  have  done  so  had  she  tried. 

"For  over  five  long  weary  years,"  he  quietly  resumed, 
"you  have  made  of  me  a  mere  purveyor  of  luxuries,  of 
pleasures,  of  amusements.  I  fully  admire  your  cleverness 

213 


MOONGLADE 

in  raising  yourself  to  the  position  I  gave  you;  but  not, 
however,  the  self-sufficiency  that  caused  you  to  neg- 
lect the  obligations  that  position  entails.  You  scarcely 
showed  shrewdness  in  this  respect,  but  I  was  ready  after 
a  few  weeks  of  your  company  to  take  much  for  granted, 
to  pardon  much,  and  to  adopt  any  modus-vivendi  which 
would  make  it  easier  for  you  and  me  to  keep  up  the  farce 
of  what  I,  at  least,  in  my  imbecility  had  thought  to  be  a 
love  marriage.  I  saw  your  failings;  I  discovered,  one  by 
one,  faults  I  had  never  believed  you  capable  of,  but  I 
thought  you  at  least  honest,  and  so  I  managed  to  endure 
the  disappointment  of  finding  in  you  nothing  of  what  I 
had  expected.  I  never  doubted  your  honesty,  mind  you — 
never  once.  That  saved  all !" 

He  paused,  bit  his  under  lip,  and  went  on  in  the  same 
slow,  deliberate  way:  "I  discovered,  to  my  extreme  sor- 
row, that  you  did  not  love  me  as  you  claimed  you  did.  It 
was  a  bitter  pill  for  me  to  swallow;  but  even  then  I  found 
excuses  for  you.  The  temptation  of  great  wealth  and — 
permit  me  to  add  in  simple  justice — of  a  state  almost  un- 
equaled  here  or  elsewhere.  You  were  young,  well-born, 
and  poor.  This  is  not  a — taunt,  far  from  it — but  a  straight 
and  plain  statement.  Your  beauty  entitled  you  to  the 
best  that  this  earth  can  provide,  and,  meeting  me  on  your 
road,  you  intentionally  dazzled  me,  using,  perhaps,  not  the 
most  delicate  of  means  to  do  so;  but  I  was  too  blind  then 
to  discriminate — my  fault  entirely!  I  confess  that  I  was 
to  blame  for  not  having  been  more  keen-sighted,  and 
even  to-day  I  rest  that  blame  upon  myself." 

He  turned  his  gaze  away  from  the  wild  stare  of  her 
eyes,  and  at  once  she  tottered  to  her  feet.  "Basil!"  she 
cried.  "Basil,  I  love  you;  you  know  I  love  you  and  have 
always  loved  you!"  And,  so  queerly  are  women  con- 
structed, that  at  that  moment  when  she  was  being  shown 
in  one  flash  how  completely  she  had  lost  him,  she  felt 
with  a  keen  pang  how  far  above  other  men  he  towered, 

214 


MOONGLADE 

how  fine  and  strong  he  really  was,  and  what  a  lover  he 
might  have  remained  but  for  her  own  wilful  folly. 

He  did  not  move,  he  quietly  continued  bending  his  grave 
eyes  upon  her,  scanning  from  head  to  foot  this  beautiful 
creature  offering  herself  in  a  flash  of  awakening  passion; 
her  light  draperies  clinging  to  her  like  foam  about  Aphro- 
dite, her  glorious  eyes  wet  with  tears  more  genuine  than 
had  ever  glistened  there,  her  white  arms  yearningly 
stretched  out  to  him. 

"What  a  pity,"  he  said,  simply,  "that  you  should  not 
have  thought  of  all  this  before!" 

She  half  fell  back  as  if  he  had  struck  her,  then,  impelled 
by  a  swift  instinct  to  do  all  that  she  could  to  save  herself, 
she  suddenly  flung  herself  at  him,  her  head  upon  his 
breast,  her  loose -piled  hair,  shaken  from  its  fastening 
ribbon  by  the  violence  of  the  action,  tumbling  like  a 
mantle  in  lustrous  ripples  all  around  her. 

"Basil!  My  Basil!"  she  moaned.  " I  am  yours,  only 
yours !"  One  part  of  her  brain  was  working  feverishly,  for 
she  must  try  to  guess — and  that  quickly — what  he  knew, 
what  had  changed  him  so;  the  other  part  was  inert  and 
dazed.  It  was  a  crucial  moment. 

Firmly  he  detached  her  clinging  hands  from  his  shoul- 
ders, and,  holding  her  by  both  slender  wrists,  he  pressed 
her  gently  toward  the  lounge;  but  her  hitherto  dormant 
fighting  powers  were  fully  aroused  now,  and  she  struggled 
free,  to  fling  herself  in  utter  abasement  at  his  feet,  clasp- 
ing his  knees  desperately.  An  expression  of  indescribable 
pain  contracted  his  features,  but  she  did  not  see  that;  all 
she  knew  was  that  he  lifted  her  up  ever  so  gently,  as  though 
she  were  a  mere  object  to  be  removed  from  his  path,  and 
placed  her  in  the  same  impersonal  way  where  she  had 
sat  before. 

Limitless  astonishment  mingled  now  with  her  terror 
and  confusion.  Was  this  the  man  whom  she  had  led  by 
the  proverbial  silken  thread? 

215 


MOONGLADE 

"Don't  you  realize,"  he  was  saying,  "that  you  can  no 
longer  influence  me;  that  I  clearly  see  through  the  tricks 
and  shams  you  have  always  practised  upon  me;  that  my 
eyes  are  wide  open  at  last?" 

Gripping  the  edge  of  the  lounge  with  both  hands,  she 
stared  at  him  in  utter  consternation,  helpless,  defeated, 
robbed  at  one  stroke  of  all  her  weapons. 

"Women,"  he  pursued  in  that  well-controlled,  level 
tone  that  gave  her  such  a  sense  of  powerlessness,  "  hold 
different  views  of  honor  from  what  we  do.  I  had  never 
quite  believed  this,  because  our  women  are  apart  from  the 
common  herd,  but  you  have  convinced  me.  You  are 
alarmed  at  the  thought — not  of  losing  me,  but  what  I 
represent  to  you,  and  you  are  at  the  present  minute  per- 
fectly willing  to  surrender  unconditionally,  even  after 
what  I  have  just  told  you,  were  I  cowardly  enough  to  ac- 
cept such  a  surrender.  You  think  that  my  anger  will 
pass;  but  you  may  as  well  know  that  this  is  not  going 
to  be  the  case,  because  you  have  robbed  me  not  only  of 
the  present,  but  of  the  past — because  you  have  never  been 
faithful  to  me,  even  when  you  first  put  your  hand  in  mine 
and  swore  to  be  true,  and  because  now  I  do  not  believe 
in  you  and  never  will!" 

"But  what  makes  you  say  these  hideous  things?"  she 
gasped.  "What  have  I  done  to  deserve  such  cruelty — 
such  contempt — such  injustice?" 

There  was  still  something  wanting  in.  his  accusation — 
she  felt  it  instinctively;  something  she  dreaded  to  hear 
him  tell,  and  yet  must  know;  something  he,  a  gentleman, 
hated  to  say. 

"The  knowledge  that  you  have  always  betrayed  me," 
he  said  at  last;  "you  who  married  me  for  gain,  because 
your  lover  was  too  poor  to  be  a  welcome  husband!" 

"My  lover!"  she  shrieked.  "That  is  false!  I  have  no 
lover!" 

"Pardon  me,  madame,"  he  said,  "some  time  ago  I 

216 


MOONGLADE 

found  it  was  necessary  for  my  honor  to  learn  what  I  could 
about  your  past — and — your  present.  A  little  late,  no 
doubt,  but  what  will  you?  We  Russians  are  hard  to 
rouse,  but  still  harder  to  deceive  twice  over.  Long  be- 
fore you  knew  me  Neville  Moray  was  your  lover — he  has 
continued  to  be  so  ever  since.  How  far  your — affection 
carried  you  before  our  marriage  I  do  not  know — but  since 
then  you  have  seen  him  at  regular  intervals,  secretly, 
shamefully,  and  now" — his  voice  broke  suddenly  in  a 
horrible  way — "now  I  am  forced  to  doubt  the  legitimacy 
of  your  son." 

From  the  long  gallery  beyond  her  apartments  gay, 
childish  shouts  came  ringing  to  their  ears. 

' '  Hop !  Hop,  Garrassime !  Kick  out  your  heels,  horsey ! 
Go  faster!  Go  faster!"  Piotr  was  calling  out  at  the  top 
of  his  voice,  and  in  the  small,  heavily  perfumed  salon  there 
was  silence,  tense  and  terrible,  an  oppressive  lull  in  a 
storm.  There  was  a  burst  of  laughter,  and  the  gallop- 
ing of  little  feet  pursuing  Garrassime,  the  merry  jingle  of 
the  silver  bells,  of  the  bridle  with  which  the  boy  was  driv- 
ing his  human  steed,  and  then  silence  again. 

Laurence  had  fallen  forward  against  the  cushions,  her 
face  hidden,  both  hands  covering  her  ears.  Basil  drew  a 
deep  breath,  and  suddenly  tears  rose  to  his  eyes.  Slowly 
he  walked  to  a  window,  and,  his  back  toward  her,  gazed  un- 
seeingly  at  the  immense  steppe  rolling  out  from  the  rocks 
far  below.  The  magnificent  isolation  of  the  place  was 
almost  tragic  in  its  completeness,  and  from  that  height 
the  vast  wrinklings  of  the  unspotted  snow-field  seemed 
wrought  from  imperishable  marble  by  the  craft  of  some 
giant  sculptor,  enamoured  of  Eternity. 

"Hear  me,  Basil!"  murmured  Laurence,  hoarsely. 
"What  you  say  is  monstrous — false  to  the  core.  The  boy 
is  yours — yours,  do  you  hear  me?"  There  was  the  ring 
of  truth  in  her  words  now,  but  the  man  who  listened  had 
ceased  to  believe  once  and  for  all.  A  bad  woman  may 
15  217 


MOONGLADE 

inspire  passion,  but  not  the  love  that  trusts  and  compre- 
hends. 

"How  can  I  know?"  came  from  the  window,  in  a  voice 
so  altered  that  she  did  not  recognize  it,  and  abruptly 
started  forward  to  see  who  had  spoken.  "How  can  I 
know,"  went  on  the  lifeless,  monotonous  accusation, 
"since  you  were  always  untrue?  Had  you,  tired  of  my 
tenderness,  yielded  to  a  sudden  impulse  and  given  your- 
self to  another,  you  might  yet  have  had  some  shadow  of 
an  excuse,  perhaps.  You  would  have  merely  sunk,  in  so 
doing,  to  the  level  of  those  women  who  break  faith  because 
it  is  their  whim  or  their  nature  to  do  so.  But  what  of  the 
crime  committed  by  a  free  agent  in  accepting  another 
man's  name,  his  love  and  trust,  when  it  has  become 
no  longer  possible  to  do  so  without  black  dishonor?  You 
were  talking  a  while  ago  of  your  poltroonery  with  regard 
to  my  peasants — my  people  here.  What  is  that  com- 
pared to  the  atrocious  cowardice  you  were  guilty  of  when 
you  greedily  accepted  me  as  your  husband — your  best 
friend,  your  protector — knowing  that  you  were  no  longer 
yours  to  dispose  of,  for  a  fortune  or  otherwise?" 

"You  are  cruel — unfair,  and  you  know  it!  There  has 
been  nothing,  nothing,  I  tell  you,  that  was  serious  between 
me  and  the — the — young  man  you  named  just  now.  He 
was  a  childhood's  friend,  nothing  more." 

Basil  did  not  turn,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  wearily, 
that  was  all;  and  Laurence,  cowed,  daunted  by  this  con- 
temptuous silence,  glanced  apprehensively  at  those  broad 
shoulders  in  a  quick,  haunted  way. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "won't  you  look  round?  Won't 
you  read  the  truth  in  my  eyes?  Take  care,  Basil,  of  what 
you  are  doing!  Don't  push  me  too  far!"  The  sentence 
that  had  begun  in  entreaty  ended  in  a  snarl  of  weak  rage 
and  menace  that  made  Basil  pivot  on  his  heels  and  look 
at  her  with  new  surprise. 

"I  believe,  God  forgive  me,  that  you  are  attempting 

218 


MOONGLADE 

to  threaten  me!"  he  said,  holding  back  his  anger  with 
a  strong  effort. 

She  was  hanging  her  head,  but  not  in  shame;  her  hands 
were  clasped  between  her  knees,  upon  which  the  thin 
material  of  her  dress  drew  tightly,  and  she  glanced  up 
at  him  through  her  eyelashes. 

"If  I  do  anything  desperate,"  she  said,  between  her 
teeth,  "it  will  be  your  fault."  And  then  in  one  of  those 
moments  of  complete  mental  abandonment — a  sudden 
weakening  of  over-taxed  faculties  to  which  women  when 
cornered  are  liable — she  committed  the  most  fatal  error 
of  all.  "Who,"  she  asked,  furiously — "who  told  you 
all  this  against  me?  Was  it  Re*gis  de  Plenhoel  who 
talked?" 

Basil's  eyes  were  dark  steel.  "Re"gis  de  Plenhoel — 
Re*gis?"  he  echoed.  "What  has  he  to  do  with  all  this? 
Surely  you  did  not  make  him  your  confidant?" 

Too  late  she  saw  her  terrible  mistake.  "No!  No!" 
she  cried,  throwing  out  protesting  arms.  "I  don't  know 
what  I  am  talking  about.  I  did  not  say  that !"  But  the 
harm  was  done. 

"So,"  Basil  said,  "there  are  more  than  three  of  us  to 
share  this  abominable  secret!  Well,  that  alters  the  case 
— for  the  future,  that  is!"  He  took  a  step  toward  her. 
"A  nous  deux,  then,  madame,"  he  said,  "  for  the  present, 
at  any  rate.  You  are  going  to  tell  me  exactly  in  what 
way  that  chivalrous  fellow  Re"gis  has  been  mixed  up  by 
you  in  this  shameful  business,  or  else  I'll  know  the  reason 
why!" 

The  poor  devil  who  but  an  instant  ago  was  inwardly 
writhing  in  agony  was  gone.  Nothing  of  him  remained 
in  evidence.  It  was  now  the  judge,  calm  and  inexorable, 
who  stood  before  her,  and  that  judge  was  her  husband, 
and — a  Prince — which  will  continue  to  make  a  difference 
throughout  the  ages,  especially  to  natures  like  hers,  in 
spite  of  all  to  the  contrary  that  can  be  howled  to  the  mul- 

219 


MOONGLADE 

titude  or  printed  in  the  malodorous  pamphlets  and  "up- 
to-date"  novels  of  a  socialistic  press. 

And  now  for  the  second  time  it  was  imperative  for  her 
to  decide  what  to  say,  instantly,  in  extenuation  of  her 
previous  words.  Her  tortuous  mind  flickered  under  the 
effort,  but  she  chose  her  line  of  defense,  and  spoke : 

"That  chivalrous  fellow,  Plenhoel,  as  you  are  pleased 
to  call  him,  is  not  quite  the  pure  white  knight  you  think 
him.  He — since  you  force  me  to  say  it — deigned  from 
the  first  to  look  with  favor  upon  me — pardon  me  for  adopt- 
ing the  grandiloquent  style  you  use  yourself!"  The  sneer 
was  unmistakable,  and  in  her  best  manner. 

Basil's  features  grew  a  little  more  rigid.  "Go  on!" 
he  said. 

"When  I  came  to  Plenhoel,  and — met  you — he  showed 
me  at  once  that  he  admired  me.  I  might  have  married 
him  instead  of  you  had  I  wished  it,  and  become  the  step- 
mother of  your  adored  'Gamin.'"  She  gave  a  wicked 
crack  of  laughter,  for  she  saw  the  swift  spasm  that  con- 
tracted his  features  as  she  pronounced  the  nickname  of 
Marguerite;  but  this  was  gone  in  a  flash,  and  Basil  was 
listening  calmly  and  collectedly  again. 

"Yes,"  she  hastily  resumed,  "I  could  have  been  the 
Marquise  de  Plenhoel — not  a  thing  to  be  despised  when 
one  comes  to  think  of  it !  Nor  is  this  quite  all,  for  when  I 
was  in  Paris  I  had  to  defend  myself  against  quite  a  dif- 
ferent sort  of  address  from  him.  Oh!  you  will  pretend 
not  to  believe  that,  either;  but  one  night  I  was  forced 
to  run  away  from  the  Hdtel  de  Plenhoel,  after  a  scene  with 
him.  He  snatched  me  up  in  his  arms;  he — " 

Basil  straightened  himself  mechanically,  which  made 
him  seem  of  a  sudden  absolutely  gigantic. 

"Do  you,"  he  said,  "really  expect  me  to  accept  this 
paltry  explanation  as  the  truth?"  he  asked. 

She  moved  restlessly,  but  her  flaming  eyes  did  not 
flinch. 

220 


MOONGLADE 

"You  will  continue  to  hold  him  innocent,  I  suppose," 
she  said,  bitterly.  "Everybody,  it  seems,  is  innocent  ex- 
cepting me!" 

"Not  everybody!" 

She  drooped  for  a  second  beneath  the  taunt,  but  soon 
went  on,  as  if  only  spurred  to  new  effort. 

"Yet  he  is  well  known,  your  chivalrous  Re"gis,  as  quite 
the  contrary  of  a  woman-hater — very  much  the  contrary! 
You  said  that  to  me  yourself  long  ago.  A  Don  Juan,  you 
called  him,  laughing.  Well,  what  is  there  so  strange  about 
his  casting  his  handkerchief  in  my  direction?"  She 
paused,  panting  a  little. 

"You  use  most  befitting  expressions,"  Basil  replied, 
"but  you  forget  that  Re"gis  and  I  were  boys  together,  and 
that  I  know  him  to  be  as  incapable  of  making  love — it  is 
my  turn  to  express  regret  for  a  somewhat  drastic  plain- 
ness of  speech — to  a  young  girl  intrusted  to  his  care,  as 
of  repeating  the  offense  to  my  wife.  I  would  refute  the 
testimony  of  my  own  eyes  where  he  is  in  question." 

"They  are,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  pretty  gullible  sometimes 
— your  own  eyes!"  she  said,  insolently,  utterly  unable  to 
resist  the  temptation  of  hitting  back;  but  the  dull  flush 
on  his  face  frightened  her  into  silence. 

"  My  eyes  are,  as  you  very  justly  remark,"  he  acquiesced, 
' '  or,  rather,  they  have  been,  pretty  dull.  I  think,  however, 
that  you  have  effected  a  perfect  cure,  and  that  as  an 
oculist  you  stand  unrivaled.  But  do  let  us  understand 
each  other,  once,  and  for  all  time  to  come." 

"I  ask  no  better,"  she  retorted,  deceived  by  his  sur- 
face calm. 

"Very  well,  then.  Listen  to  me,  and  listen  with  all 
your  might,  because  I  shall  not  repeat  what  I  tell  you  now. 
I  want  no  scandal,  no  stain  upon  my  name.  We  do  not 
need  such  things  to  make  it  famous.  So,  although  in 
Russia,  which  you  so  greatly  dislike,  divorce  and  annul- 
ment are  obtainable  under  certain  circumstances,  I  will 

221 


MOONGLADE 

never  resort  to  such  humiliating  means  of  separation; 
remember  that.  Life  for  us  in  common  has  been  rendered 
impossible  by  you,  and  I  shall  provide  for  you  elsewhere 
than  under  my  own  roof.  You  can  have  the  house  in 
Paris  and  a  suitable  income  as  long  as  you  conduct  your- 
self decently;  also  the  villa  at  Beaulieu.  Should  you, 
however,  attempt  to  amuse  yourself  by  further  intrigues, 
I  will  know  how  to  stop  you.  Of  your — of  Captain  Moray 
it  is  not  worth  while  to  speak,  for  I  am  going  to  challenge 
and  kill  him  as  soon  as  I  have  done  with  you.  This  being 
well  understood,  I  will  at  once  make  all  preparations  for 
your  departure  from  here,  on  the  plea  that  you  are  not 
able  to  bear  the  severity  of  our  climate,  and  you  may  go 
to  Paris  or  Beaulieu  (at  your  choice)  immediately.  Your 
maid  and  courier  will  accompany  you;  the  staff  of  ser- 
vants belonging  to  each  of  my  establishments  is  there  in 
permanence,  as  you  know." 

"And  do  you  imagine  that  you  can  dispose  of  me  as 
if  I  were  a  parcel  to  be  sent  off  by  post  at  your  pleasure?" 
She  was  white  as  paper,  and  her  obstinate  jaw  worked 
curiously  as  she  spoke.  "And  this,"  she  continued, 
rapidly,  "because  without  proofs — tangible  proofs — it 
pleases  you  to  accuse  me  of  things  I  have  never  dreamed 
of  doing?" 

For  the  first  time  Basil's  extraordinary  self-restraint 
showed  signs  of  giving  way. 

"You  shall  do  as  I  say!"  he  broke  in.  "As  to  proofs, 
tangible  or  otherwise,  they  are  superabundantly  in  my 
hand  since  a  week.  Do  you  wish  me  to  tell  you  when 
and  how  and  where  your  meetings  with  Captain  Moray 
took  place?  Do  you  desire  to  know  any  particular  de- 
tails concerning  those  meetings,  or  your  correspondence 
with  him  for  the  past  years,  before  and  after  you  deigned 
to  marry  me?  In  my  turn  I  will  warn  you  not  to  push 
me  too  far.  We  Palitzins  are  not  a  particularly  patient 
race.  I  must  be  really  a  remarkable  exception  to  have 

222 


MOONGLADE 

stood  what  I  have.  For  a  mere  stray  glance  of  coquetry 
lives  have  been  paid  in  the  past,  although,  happily,  until 
now  our  Princesses  have  been  honest  and  scrupulously 
loyal  women.  Believe  me,  madame,  you  have  nothing 
to  gain  by  forcing  a  scandal  which  will  acquaint  the  world 
with  what  you  have  done,  for  then  you  will  be  a  dedassee, 
and  of  those  there  are  too  many  already.  All  that  remains 
for  me  now  is  to  ask  you  when  you  can  be  ready  to  leave 
Tverna." 

"Like  a  dismissed  servant,"  she  said,  in  a  strangling 
voice.  "And  Piotr?  Do  you  intend  to  keep  him?" 

He  passed  his  left  hand  quickly  across  his  eyes.  ' '  Piotr, ' ' 
he  said,  with  an  effort,  the  blood  receding  from  his  face 
and  leaving  it  almost  livid.  "Piotr  is  officially  at  least 
a  Prince  Palitzin.  He  belongs  to  us,  and  shall  remain 
under  my  care,  although  not  with  me.  But  this  need 
not  trouble  you.  He  never  was  anything  to  you;  the 
maternal  fiber  being,  I  fear,  not  one  of  your  numerous 
strong  points." 

"And,"  she  exclaimed,  fiercely,  "do  you  not  care  a  jot 
about  all  this?  You  have  loved  me  passionately.  Are 
you  forgetting  our  years  together — our  wedding-trip — 
everything?" 

Basil  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  as  if  doubting  the 
evidence  of  his  own  ears.  Her  effrontery  really  astounded 
him.  "Had  I  not  mistaken  my  feelings  when  I  married 
you,  this  would  have  been  much  worse,"  he  said,  grimly. 
"As  it  is,  the  souvenirs  you  are  so  thoughtful  as  to  invoke 
make  little  impression  on  me!" 

With  an  execration  on  her  lips  Laurence  sprang  up 
and  came  close  to  her  husband.  "  Ah !"  she  cried.  "  You 
mistook  your  feelings,  did  you?  And  it  is  you  who  dare 
to  call  me  to  account  for  my  conduct?  You,  who  have 
loved  Marguerite  de  Plenhoel  from  time  immemorial,  one 
might  say — and  it  is  you  who  blame  me  for  what  you 
pretend  I  have  done  —  you?  No  doubt  she  has  not 

223 


MOONGLADE 

waited  until  now  to  reciprocate  your  tender  affection. 
I  am—" 

She  did  not  finish,  for  with  lightning-like  rapidity  his 
hand  closed  upon  her  arm.  "We  will  leave  her  name  out 
of  this,  if  you  please!"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  command  she 
had  not  yet  heard  from  him.  "You  are  not  fit  to  pro- 
nounce it.  Nor  have  you  the  right  to  draw  infamous 
conclusions  about  her — or  me,  either — out  of  your  richly 
furnished  stores  of  malice.  You  know  without  a  per- 
adventure  that  you  are  slandering  the  purest  of  God's 
creatures,  and — a  man  who  has  given  you  every  reason 
to  respect  him.  Now,  please,  no  more  noise,  in  the  in- 
terest of  your  own  future.  Try,  if  you  can,  to  act  with 
a  little  more  dignity — before  others  at  least." 

He  released  her  with  a  gesture  bordering  on  disgust, 
and  she  fell  heavily  into  his  arms  in  one  of  those  short- 
lived fainting-fits  that  are  the  usual  resort  of  overstrained 
feminine  nerves.  He  lifted  her  to  the  lounge,  gave  a 
quick  touch  to  her  wrist — which  would  have  completely 
reassured  him  had  he  been  at  all  anxious — and,  striding 
to  the  door,  called  Celeste. 

"Your  mistress  is  not  well;  look  to  her!"  he  said;  and 
when  Laurence  opened  her  eyes  she  saw  that  he  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

There  always  is — you'll  find  it  true, 
A  dance  before  a  Waterloo. 

"ONE  little,  two  little,  three  little,  four  little,  five  little 
Russian  boys!"  chanted  Piotr,  counting  on  his  fingers  as 
he  stood  in  the  window  recess  of  his  aunt  Tatiana's 
boudoir.  Outside  the  sun  was  shining  bravely  on  the 
tender  spring  verdure  of  Tsarskoe-Seloe,  one  of  the  most 
delicious  villegiaturas  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of 
Petersburg.  Behind  him  towered  Garrassime,  whose 
thick  hair  had  during  the  last  few  months  turned  from 
dusky  iron  to  silver,  and  in  whose  faithful  eyes  dwelt  an 
unconquerable  pain. 

"I  say,  Garrassime,"  cried  Piotr,  interrupting  his 
game,  "there's  going  to  be  a  review!  The  soldiers  are 
coming  to  camp  at  Kre"tovsky — the  tall  ones  you  know — 
with  the  big  sabers  and  the  long  cloaks.  Won't  that  be 
jolly?  Cousin  Andrei-Andreitch  is  a  captain  there!" 

"Of  the  Gardes-b-Cheval,  my  little  dove.  Yes!"  replied 
Garrassime,  gently  stroking  the  chestnut  locks  straying 
across  the  boy's  forehead;  "yes,  my  lambkin,  it  will  be 
jolly  for  you." 

"And  for  you,  too,  Garrassime,"  the  child  declared. 
"I've  noticed  you  don't  like  this  place  as  well  as  Tverna, 
or  is  it  because  you  miss  papa?  I  miss  papa.  Oh,  so 
much! — not  mamma,  she  was  always  so  nasty.  Don't 
you  think  she  was  nasty,  Garrassime?" 

"Hush,  hush,  little  Highness!  You  should  not  say 

225 


MOONGLADE 

that!"  Poor  Garrassime  in  the  bitterness  of  his  heart 
could  have  wept  aloud. 

"And  why  not?"  questioned  the  miniature  tyrant  he 
worshiped.  "It  is  true.  She  is  never  like  Aunt  Ta- 
tiana,  nor  Aunt  Nastia — nor  my  little  darling  Malou, 
either.  Where  is  my  little  darling  Malou,  Garrassime? 
Do  send  for  her  to  come  and  play  with  me  as  we  did  at 
Plenhoel  on  the  pebbles.  Why  can't  you?" 

His  straight  brows  quivered  as  he  raised  those  brilliant 
eyes  of  his  to  his  patient  attendant. 

"Why  can't  he  what?"  Tatiana  de  Salvi£res  asked, 
entering  from  the  veranda  door  in  her  quick,  resolute 
way. 

"Send  for  my  little  darling  Malou!"  stoutly  responded 
Piotr.  "I  am  Prince  Pierre  Palitzin.  Why  should  not 
people  do  my  bidding?" 

"You  are  Prince  Dourak  Palitzin,"  laughed  the  Duch- 
ess, "when  you  speak  like  that.  Yes,  Prince  'Donkey' 
Palitzin,  and  that  adds  no  grace  to  the  name.  Do  your 
bidding  indeed,  illustrious  Sir!  Wait  until  the  littlest 
ones  are  not  able  to  eat  their  soup  off  your  head  before 
you  assume  command  of  us  all." 

With  immense  dignity  Piotr  drew  himself  up.  "I 
am  very  tall  for  my  age,"  he  gravely  declared.  "Cousin 
Pavlo  was  saying  it  only  this  morning." 

"Cousin  Pavlo  is  my  son,  Piotr,  so  I  know  that  he 
often  speaks  great  nonsense.  Still,  you  are  tallish  for 
your  age,  and  especially  old  enough  to  understand  that 
you  can't  always  have  your  own  way." 

"About  little  darling  Malou,  you  mean,  Aunt  Ta- 
tiana?" 

"About  her,  if  you  like,  and  about  many  other  things, 
too.  She,  for  instance,  is  not  in  Russia,  so  how  could 
she  play  with  you?" 

"Make  her  come  to  Russia,  then!"  insisted  Piotr;  "or 
if  you  can't  I'll  ask  Uncle  Jean.  He  is  much  nicer  than 

226 


you  are,  or  Aunt  Nastia,  even,  Aunt  Tatiana.  Uncle  Jean 
will  bring  little  darling  Malou." 

His  lower  lip  was  beginning  to  tremble  oddly,  and  the 
Duchess  exchanged  a  look  of  apprehension  with  Gar- 
rassime. 

"There,  there,  my  pet,"  she  consoled,  quickly  kneeling 
down  beside  her  nephew,  who  with  a  sudden  howl  of  dis- 
tress flung  himself  violently  into  her  arms. 

For  months  and  months  and  again  months  the  same 
unceasing  request  for  "little  darling  Malou"  had  been 
droned  into  the  ears  of  Garrassime.  While  still  at  Tverna 
he  alone  had  heard  it,  but  lately  the  sympathetic  uncle 
and  aunt  and  young  cousins  had  been  assailed  by  that 
monotonous  demand.  Piotr  never  quite  lost  sight  of  it, 
and  the  slightest  incident  served  to  bring  his  desire  to 
the  surface,  for  during  his  sojourn  in  Brittany  those  two, 
Piotr  and  the  "Gamin,"  had  become  fast  friends  indeed. 

"Come,"  murmured  Tatiana,  lifting  the  heavy  boy  in 
her  arms — "come,  don't  cry,  Piotr  dear.  Get  Garrassime 
to  put  on  your  coat  and  we  will  go  and  walk  in  the  park. 
There's  military  music  at  the  Kiosk  to-day." 

But  Piotr  refused  to  be  comforted.  Tears  as  big  and 
round  as  glass  beads  kept  rolling  down  his  sun-kissed 
cheeks,  and  he  clung  about  his  aunt  so  desperately  that 
at  last  she  was  forced  to  sit  down  and  rock  him  to  and 
fro  like  a  baby. 

"I  want  papa — I  want  little  darling  Malou,"  the  boy 
sobbed.  "Why  has  everybody  gone  away?"  And  with 
a  sudden  jerk  of  fury  he  tore  himself  loose,  jumped  to 
the  floor,  and,  stamping  both  feet  on  the  carpet,  began 
to  yell  at  the  top  of  his  lungs:  "I  want  them  now,  at 
once!  I'll  kill  somebody — if  they  don't  come — I  will — 
if  they  don't  come  this  minute!" 

Instantly  Garrassime's  arms  were  about  the  lad. 
"That's  what  I  feared,"  his  eyes  said,  plainly,  and  Ta- 
tiana, well  aware  of  Piotr's  ungovernable  fits  of  rage,  felt 

227 


MOONGLADE 

herself  getting  pale  as  she  saw  him  struggling  in  his  gi- 
gantic attendant's  restraining  grasp. 

"What,"  she  was  asking  herself,  dismally,  "will  become 
of  this  boy,  now  as  good  as  orphaned,  with  such  a  temper?" 
And  just  then  Salvidres,  drawn  there  by  the  noise,  hur- 
ried in. 

"What's  all  this?"  he  asked,  glancing  at  his  wife. 

She  raised  her  shoulders  imperceptibly,  nodding  tow- 
ard the  child.  Salvi£res  moved  to  Garrassime's  side  and 
firmly  took  Piotr  from  him,  and  at  his  touch  the  boy  sud- 
denly ceased  fighting. 

"Tell  me,  Piotr,"  Salvi£res  said,  very  calmly  sitting 
him  down  on  his  knee,  "why  do  you  act  like  this?" 

"I  want  papa!"  gulped  Piotr,  swallowing  his  tears. 
"I  want  little  darling  Malou!" 

"You  do!  Well,  there's  no  harm  in  that;  but  what 
makes  you  ask  for  them  in  such  an  unmanly  way?" 

Piotr  drew  himself  up,  and,  slipping  from  his  uncle's 
knee,  stood,  still  shaking  and  trembling,  before  him,  his 
eyes  opened  to  their  widest  extent. 

"Unmanly!"  he  glumly  repeated.  "I  am  not  un- 
manly, Uncle  Jean." 

"Ah,  but  yes  you  are,  and  you  who  wish  to  be  a  soldier, 
too!  Don't  you  know  that  it  is  only  women  who  cry  and 
stamp  their  feet  and  go  off  the  handle  like  this?" 

"Thanks!"  murmured  Tatiana,  who  felt  much  relieved 
already. 

"Women,"  pronounced  Salvi&res,  dictatorially;  "all 
women,  excepting  your  aunt  Tatiana,  of  course!" 

"And  little  darling  Malou,"  came  from  the  young  un- 
regenerate,  one  thumb  in  his  mouth,  and  the  shadow 
of  a  roguish  smile  dawning  through  his  tears  like  watery 
sunshine  at  the  close  of  a  violent  rain-storm. 

"Allans  bon!"  grumbled  Salvieres.  "You  don't  easily 
give  up  an  idea,  do  you,  Piotr?  And  now  be  a  good 
boy;  go  with  Garrassime  to  put  on  your  things,  and 

228 


MOONGLADE 

you  can  come  with  me  to  the  parade-ground  at  Krasnoe- 
Seloe." 

"Yes,  Uncle  Jean,  I'll  put  on  my  things;  but  I'll  go 
for  a  walk  with  Aunt  Tatiana  here  in  the  park.  She 
asked  me  first,  you  know,  and  I'm  sorry  I  frightened  her." 

He  wheeled  on  his  flat  little  heels,  honored  his  uncle  with 
a  perfectly  executed  military  salute,  and,  going  to  his  aunt, 
raised  his  rosy  mouth  to  be  kissed;  then  attended  by 
Garrassime  he  ran  swiftly  up-stairs. 

"My  God!"  said  Tatiana,  as  soon  as  he  was  out  of 
hearing,  "what  shall  we  do  with  him?" 

Her  husband  rose,  and,  taking  her  hand,  kissed  it  ten- 
derly. "My  dear  Tatiana,"  he  said,  gravely,  "we  will, 
as  usual,  try  to  do  our  duty.  It  is  not  an  easy  one,  I 
grant  you,  but  still  it  must  be  accomplished  somehow  or 
other." 

"Poor  little  fellow!"  she  said,  rather  hopelessly.  "Oh, 
Jean,  isn't  it  pitiful  to  think  of  Basil,  who  adored  him,  and 
now  refuses  to  see  him — with  that  terrible  obstinacy  and 
strength  of  purpose  we  Palitzins  are  cursed  with?  What 
will  come  of  all  this?  Tell  me  that,  if  you  can?" 

Jean  de  Salvieres  had  been  asked  this  question  before, 
but  now,  as  then,  he  was  quite  unable  to  answer  it. 

"It  is  so  heartbreaking,"  continued  Tatiana,  who  evi- 
dently did  not  expect  a  reply.  "That  miserable  woman 
who  has  spoiled  all  our  lives  and  is  now  amusing  {her- 
self at  Beaulieu  on  her  yacht — for  she  has  a  yacht  of  her 
own,  if  you  please — and  Basil  practically  a  fugitive  after 
that  fatal  duel.  Tverna  closed  up  and  all  those  splendid 
plans  for  the  peasants  at  a  standstill.  How  can  she  exist 
with  such  a  remorse?  How  can  she  laugh  on,  trifle  with 
life,  think  of  nothing  but  her  own  precious  self,  and  never 
of  her  poor  little  son — of  Basil?" 

lQue  voulez-vous,  ma  chfrie?"  he  said,  soothingly. 
"She's  made  that  way.  I  for  one  never  could  endure 
her;  but  things  will  come  out  right  in  the  end.  I  have 

229 


MOONGLADE 

thought  more  than  once  lately  that  we  might  do  worse 
than  go  to  Salvieres  for  the  summer,  and  ask  Regis  and 
Marguerite  to  stay  with  us  for  a  while." 

Tatiana  turned  and  gazed  at  him  in  undisguised  ad- 
miration. 

"You've  got  it!"  she  cried.  "You've  got  it!  You 
dear,  clever,  dazzling  old  boy!"  And,  throwing  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  she  gave  him  a  resounding  kiss. 

"Delicious!"  he  exclaimed,  smacking  his  lips.  "Your 
kisses,  Tatiana,  are  like  yourself — quite  out  of  the  com- 
mon nice." 

"Not  so  loud!"  she  admonished.  "Think  of  it,  there's 
frost  on  both  our  heads,  and  we've  been  lovers  for  near- 
ly-" 

"'Ssh,  'ssh!"  he  laughed.  "Never  mention  figures  ex- 
cept when  they  are  slender  ones." 

She  was  about  to  riposte,  but  Piotr  at  this  juncture 
bounded  in  from  the  veranda,  waving  his  Kossak  cap  in 
his  chubby  gloved  hand,  with  a  "But  aren't  you  ready, 
Aunt  Tatiana?"  that  sent  her  flying  to  her  dressing-room. 

In  the  park  it  was  delightful.  The  trees  were  cov- 
ered with  a  delicate  veil  of  tender  green,  while  flowers 
newly  bedded  and  glistening  with  drops  from  the  garden- 
ers' "lances"  breathed  the  very  breath  of  spring,  and  the 
ruffled  surface  of  the  lakes  gleamed  and  glinted  like 
pailleted  satin,  showing  soft  azure  lights  through  their 
dancing  transparencies. 

Salvieres  and  his  Tatiana  had  determined  to  go  to- 
gether to  Krasnoe-Seloe  in  order  to  cheer  up  their  little 
nephew,  and  in  a  short  while  they  reached  the  camp. 

The  dust  raised  in  the  early  morning  by  cavalry 
hoofs  and  the  marching  feet  of  infantry  had  settled  down 
after  a  fashion,  but  there  still  remained  a  sort  of  golden 
haze  about  the  whole  place  which  gave  it  a  mysterious 
charm.  The  great  mess-tent,  its  front  flaps  symmetri- 
cally looped  back,  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  officers'  toy 

230 


MOONGLADE 

isbas  like  a  snowy  mother-hen  tending  her  brood;  while 
in  the  middle  distance  the  gay  little  summer  theater, 
where  youth  and  middle-age  and  valor  congregate  in  the 
evening,  to  while  away  the  boredom  engendered  by  banish- 
ment all  of  a  few  versts  from  Petersburg,  displayed  its 
gay  facade.  Here  and  there  a  general  or  a  colonel,  al- 
ready a  trifle  heavy  on  the  wing,  passed  at  a  canter  salut- 
ing right  and  left,  and  many  a  "selfish"  drbchki  rattled 
by — narrow  as  a  dagger-blade,  with  some  young  subaltern 
holding  the  reins,  and  often  with  one  of  his  comrades 
perched  on  the  very  edge  of  his  knees — so  to  speak — for 
lack  of  space  to  sit  beside  him. 

And  here,  there,  and  everywhere — like  pastilles  of 
peppermint  and  cherry,  as  Piotr  sapiently  remarked — the 
flat,  white  caps  lisered  with  red  of  Messieurs  les  Gardes- 
ci-Cheval  dotted  the  fresh  verdure,  for  that  distinguished 
corps  had  just  arrived  to  take  up  its  manceuvering  quarters. 

"Pavlo,"  or,  rather,  Paul,  Prince  de  Salvieres,  oldest  son 
and  heir  of  the  charming  couple  of  that  ilk,  had  out  of 
adoration  for  his  mother  elected  to  enter  the  Russian 
army,  and  more  particularly  the  Gardes-a-Cheval — a  crack 
corps — nor  had  his  father  objected  to  this.  "You  are 
not  needed  in  France,  my  boy,"  he  had  said  to  the  lad, 
"  at  least  not  as  long  as  what  one  of  the  Republic's  amiable 
ministers  called  'draughty  names'  (des  noms  ci  courants 
d'air)  are  systematically  discouraged  in  both  the  army 
and  navy.  Should  the  day  of  the  Revanche  ever  dawn, 
it  will  be  another  affair,  but  for  us,  unfortunately,  there 
is  nothing  to  do  now  in  our  own  beloved  land.  It  is," 
he  had  added,  although  little  given  to  sentiment,  especial- 
ly when  expressed  aloud,  "the  only  real  sorrow  of  my  life 
to  see  that  from  day  to  day  our  r61e,  political,  diplomatic, 
or  military,  is  rendered  more  and  more  impossible.  How- 
ever, our  hour  may  come  sooner  than  we  expect.  Let  us, 
at  any  rate,  pray  that  it  may  be  so." 

A  strong  Legitimist  by  inheritance,  tradition,  and  per- 

231 


MOONGLADE 

sonal  faith  and  feeling,  the  Due  de  SalvieTes  recognized 
that  he  owed  his  allegiance  to  Philippe  d'Orl^ans  after 
having  given  it  unstintingly  to  his  father,  the  Comte  de 
Paris — the  elect  of  Henry  V. — and  the  inconceivable  de- 
lay of  a  final  return  to  monarchy  grieved  him  profoundly. 
That  the  Due  d'Orle'ans  should  have  been  incarcerated 
in  a  fortress  because  he  had  enlisted  as  a  private  to  serve 
France  had  amazed  and  revolted  Salvieres,  and  the  fact 
that  the  young  Due  de  Montpensier,  brother  and  heir  of 
the  virtual  King,  should  on  that  account  and  on  no  other 
have  been  refused 'the  same  privilege,  and  in  consequence 
had  entered  the  service  of  Spain,  had  once  and  for  all  heart- 
ened him.  Thus  did  Pavlo  himself  become  plus  Royal- 
iste  que  le  Roy,  perhaps,  and,  moreover,  brought  up  mostly 
in  Russia,  he  felt  the  greatest  pride  in  wearing  the  Czar's 
uniform. 

To-day  there  was  even  the  tiniest  hint  of  a  swagger  in 
his  extraordinarily  martial  attitude  as  he  met  his  parents. 
His  handsome  young  face,  his  bonny  blue  eyes  and  tight- 
ly curled  short  hair — that  his  mother  was  wont  to  call 
his  "copper  cap" — were  a  pleasure  to  behold,  and  Piotr, 
with  one  of  his  clown-like  bounds,  rushed  into  his  arms, 
shouting,  "Aunt  Tatiana  says  you  often  talk  great  non- 
sense, Cousin  Pavlo,  but  I  don't  believe  it;  you  are  too 
great  a  soldier  for  that." 

There  was  a  general  laugh — Pavlo,  red  as  the  lisere 
of  his  cap,  joining  in  gaily  enough,  though  with  a  rapid, 
circular  glance  to  see  if  any  of  his  loitering  comrades  had 
overheard  this  singular  compliment. 

"Piotr's  frankness  is  sometimes  embarrassing!"  ex- 
claimed Tatiana, -leaning  on  her  tall-handled,  fluffy  para- 
sol. "Indeed,  he  is  becoming  so  very  grown-up  that 
your  father  and  I  are  thinking  of  giving  him  the  benefit 
of  travel  for  his  further  enlightenment." 

Pavlo,  the  softest-hearted  of  budding  warriors,  whose 
own  home  life  was  and  had  always  been  so  ideal,  was  full 

232 


MOONGLADE 

of  the  greatest  pity  for  his  small  cousin.  He  patted 
Piotr's  head  en  camarade,  thinking  in  spite  of  himself  of 
the  catastrophe  that  had  deprived  the  child  of  father  and 
mother  at  one  stroke. 

"Travels  are  famous  for  people  who  are  growing  up  as 
fast  as  my  cousin  here,"  he  gravely  acquiesced;  "but 
where  is  the  voyage  to  lead  you,  my  dear  father  and 
mother?" 

"To  Salvieres,  where,rif  it  is  at  all  possible,  I  should  like 
you  to  join  us  later,  'Polo.'"  Tatiana  explained.  "Sure- 
ly you  can  get  leave  of  absence  easily  enough." 

Pavlo  straightened  his  slim  form  and  attempted  to 
twist  a  mustache — which  as  yet  consisted  of  some  easily 
counted  silken  threads  too  blond  to  be  truly  noticeable. 

"My  beloved  darling  dear,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  cannot 
be  spared.  Remember  the  August  reviews;  they  are  of 
the  greatest  importance,  especially  this  year,  when  mobili- 
zation is  so  continually  on  the  tapis." 

"And  of  course  they  cannot  take  place  without  you," 
smiled  Salvieres.  "His  Majesty  would  certainly  find  it 
difficult  to  fulfil  his  Imperial  duties  without  your  sword 
and  counsel." 

Pavlo  flushed  again.  It  was  his  shame  and  distress 
that  amusement,  pleasure,  sorrow,  or  vexation  should  in- 
variably have  this  humiliating  result.  Just  now  it  was 
merely  amusement,  for  he  was  accustomed  to  his  father's 
teasing  and  liked  it,  but  yet  he  could  have  boxed  his  own 
ears  for  feeling  his  cheeks  get  hot. 

"Oh,  but  you  mustn't  come  and  beard  me  in  my  den 
with  unseemly  jokes,  father!"  he  remonstrated.  "Here 
I  am  quite  a  personage,  I  assure  you.  Especially,"  he 
added,  gracefully,  "because  I  am  Mamma's  son  and 
yours.  Oh  yes,  I  am  quite  a  personage!" 

"God  forbid  that  I  should  doubt  it  for  a  single  instant, 
my  boy,"  solemnly  rejoined  Salvieres.  "And,  by  the 
way,  our  stay  in  Normandy  will  probably  stretch  over 

16  233 


MOONGLADE 

August  and  perhaps  September,  so  I  do  not  see  what  will 
prevent  you  from  spending  your  autumn  leave — after 
the  manoeuvers — with  us." 

"That  of  course  alters  the  case,"  Pavlo  said.  "Speak- 
ing with  all  moderation,  I  believe  that  what  you  propose 
is  feasible  later  on;  ...  at  present,  however  ..." 

"The  present,"  Tatiana  interposed,  dogmatically,  "is 
a  thing  without  breadth  or  thickness,  mon  lieutenant,  so 
let  us  pass  it  over.  Also  let  me  tell  you  as  a  further  in- 
ducement to  come  to  Normandy  as  soon  as  you  can,  that 
you  will  meet  there  your  old  friend  the  'Gamin,'  for  your 
father  and  I  are  going  to  ask  the  Plenhoels  to  stay  with 
us  for  a  while." 

At  the  name  of  the  "Gamin"  the  blood,  which  had 
begun  to  recede,  once  more  flew  its  brilliant  color  to  the 
very  roots  of  Pavlo's  bright  hair. 

"The  'Gamin,'  really?"  he  said,  as  casually  as  he  could. 
"She  must  be  quite  a  big  girl  now." 

Tatiana  and  Salvieres  were  about  to  speak  in  chorus; 
but  Piotr,  who  for  once  in  his  tender  life  had  been  silently 
listening,  gave  them  no  chance  to  do  so.  "Malou!  my 
little  darling  Malou!"  he  shrieked,  jumping  into  the  air, 
rubber-ball  wise.  "Are  we  going  to  see  little  darling 
Malou?"  He  had  become  three  shades  redder  than 
Pavlo  himself,  and  his  eyes  were  sparkling  with  joy. 

"Dear  me!"  commented  Salvieres.  "If  this  Piotr  was 
a  few  short  years  older  you  could  look  to  your  laurels, 
Pavlo;  he  certainly  is  a  most  ardent  lover  of  beauty." 
But  the  ardent  one  was  gambading  like  an  escaped  colt, 
and  Pavlo  hid  his  confusion  by  endeavoring  to  catch  him, 
and  as  he  put  it,  "to  make  him  behave." 

"Now  do  your  worst!"  he  cried,  capturing  the  de- 
lighted child  and  pinioning  his  arms  behind  him.  "Here 
one  must  be  awfully  serious,  you  know,  Piotr,  or  one  gets 
put  under  arrest." 

"Je  m'enfiche  pas  mall"  responded  Piotr,  who  was  not 

234 


MOONGLADE 

often  parliamentary.  "And  now  show  me  your  isba, 
Cousin  Pavlo,  and  all  the  camp.  Because  it  will  be  the 
only  chance  I'll  have  if  we  are  setting  off  to-morrow  to-see 
little  darling  Malou." 

"To-morrow ?  You  absurd  person !  But,  come,  I'll  be- 
tray to  you  as  much  of  the  secrets  of  a  military  encamp- 
ment as  is  compatible  with  my  duty,  since  you  are,  ac- 
cording to  Mamma,  so  admirably  grown-up;  then  if  she 
permits  it  I'll  drive  back  home  with  you  for  dinner." 

It  was  getting  late  when  the  Salvieres  carriage  re- 
entered  the  magnificent  park  of  Tsarskoe-Seloe,  where  the 
adolescent  foliage  of  its  venerable  limes  was  undershot 
by  the  last  slant  of  the  setting  sun. 

The  Imperial  Park  has,  especially  in  the  early  gloam- 
ing, a  somber  grandeur  that  is  very  impressive,  as  though 
in  the  twilight  its  loveliness  were  on  tiptoe  to  reveal  to 
you  something  new  and  startling  about  the  ancient  past. 
Eight  o'clock  was  booming  when  the  horses  left  the 
Palace,  emerging  from  its  glorious  -parterres  to  their  left, 
and  trotted  rapidly  on  beneath  the  vaulting  boughs  of  the 
broad  allee  skirting  the  lake,  which  was  now  shining  like 
molten  metal  of  a  vaguely  roseate  hue.  Further  on  a  gilt 
cupola — that  of  the  baths — rising  from  a  promontory 
biting  tooth-like  into  the  glancing  water,  burned  into  the 
fainting  pink  and  lilac  of  the  sky,  and,  further  still,  tier 
upon  tier  of  slowly  dusking  greens  seemed  the  boundary 
line  of  some  untrodden  forest.  They  finally  emerged 
through  the  colossal  bronze  portal  of  Alexander  I., 
whereon  is  inscribed  in  golden  letters,  Russian  on  one  side 
and  French  on  the  other,  the  words:  "To  my  beloved  com- 
panions  in  arms";  and  soon  drew  up  before  the  Salvieres 
villa. 

One  of  Tatiana's  chief  talents  was  to  give  to  all  her 
houses  the  peculiar  charm  with  which  she  was  herself 
endowed.  Nothing  banal  or  commonplace  was  ever  in- 
closed between  any  walls  belonging  to  her,  but  this,  be  it 

235 


MOONGLADE 

understood,  without  the  slightest  effort  on  her  part  to 
create  originality.  Every  detail  of  exterior  or  interior 
decoration  was  obviously  spontaneous,  utterly  natural, 
and  this  was  what  made  her  various  homes  so  intensely 
attractive.  Indeed,  to-night,  when  her  husband  and  her 
son  entered  the  dining-room,  they  turned  a  simultaneous 
look  of  gratitude  upon  the  woman  who  created  so  delicious 
an  atmosphere  for  them.  The  square  table  strewn  with 
dark  violets  and  feathery  little  tufts  of  mimosa,  the  daz- 
zling crystal  and  beautiful  old  silver,  the  lace-shaded  silver 
hanging-lamp  half  sunk  in  a  bowl  of  pale  turquoise  filled 
with  more  violets,  and  slender  branches  of  green  and  white 
ivy  that  twined  about  the  silver  suspension-chains  to  the 
very  ceiling,  were  as  beautifully  restful  to  the  eye  as  the 
dove-hued  window  draperies  and  wall  hangings,  whereon 
a  few  very  choice  water-color  pictures  alternated  with 
carven  brackets  supporting  rare  cloisonne"  vases  in  the 
same  shade  of  blue  as  the  lamp  bowl — also  crowned  with 
delicate  flowers.  Through  the  open  windows  the  pe- 
culiarly aromatic  scent  of  northern  poplars  and  larch 
mingled  with  the  perfume  of  r£s£da  and  heliotrope  rising 
from  the  gardens,  and  as  they  took  their  places  and  un- 
folded their  napkins  each  of  the  three  indulged  in  a  little 
sigh  of  deep  satisfaction.  Hospitable  though  they  were, 
this  was  how  the  Salvieres  really  loved  to  be,  "between 
themselves";  close  together  as  a  table  just  large  enough 
for  Tatiana's  scheme  of  decoration  in  fruit  and  flowers 
would  permit;  with  comfortable  chairs  where  one  could 
actually  lean  back  at  dessert;  satin  damask  upon  which 
one  might  even  familiarly  venture  an  elbow,  and  noise- 
less servants  in  plain  liveries.  Coffee  was,  on  those  oc- 
casions, served  there,  and  cigarettes — of  which  Tatiana 
made  a  rather  immoderate  usage,  since,  as  she  gayly 
boasted,  it  was  her  only  vice — were  smoked  while  chatting 
in  a  most  agreeable  post-prandial  manner. 
In  her  white  dress  of  some  crinkly  material  that  was 

236 


MOONGLADE 

idealized  crepe -de-Chine,  her  pearls  wound  carelessly 
about  her  throat,  and  a  sapphire  arrow  planted  through 
her  heavy  torsades,  the  "Field  Marshal,"  as  Jean  often 
called  his  wife,  looked  amazingly  young,  almost  as  if  she 
had  been  Pavlo's  elder  sister  by  but  a  few  years,  and 
Salvieres  suddenly  laughed. 

"Heavens! "  he  said,  helping  himself  to  sterlet  with  an 
unstinting  hand,  "what  can  be  nicer  than  a  nice  little 
home  like  this?  A  fig  for  the  Petersburg  palace,  where 
one  dines  on  an  island  of  carpet  in  the  midst  of  a  parquet 
the  limits  of  which  are  lost  in  dim  distances — or  the  ter- 
rifyingly  spacious  banqueting-hall  of  Palitzinovna,  that  I 
dearly  love  in  spite  of  its  colossal  proportions.  No!"  he 
lyrically  declaimed.  "Give  me  a  tiny  room,  a  crust  of 
bread,  a  goblet  of  vin-ordinaire  with  peace  and  amity  as 
sauces,  and  the  plenitude  of  my  sybaritism  knows  no 
bounds!  By  the  way,  what  have  we  got  to-night?"  he 
continued,  glancing  at  the  little  alabaster  menu  before 
his  plate.  "Ah!  canapes  Imperatrice,  consomme  froid, 
sterlet  au  naturel  —  but —  Bah!  These  are  already 
things  of  the  past.  .  .  .  And  to  come.  .  .  ?  Poularde  du 
mans  aux  trujjes  blanches —  Excellent !  Salade  de  cresson  a 
r orange —  Yum,  yum!  Gelee  d' ananas  frais — etc.,  etc.! 
That's  just  what  I  was  saying,  an  unobtrusive  meal — all 
green  and  white  and  subdued  tints  against  all  the  rules 
of  gastronomic  bienseance — green  and  white  just  like  the 
ivy  enthroned  above  our  heads.  Bravo,  Tatiana!  You 
are  a  positive  genius,  and  so's  your  chef-de-cuisine!  Poetic 
I  assure  you — these  demi-teintes,  and  so  fittingly  under- 
scored by  those  harmonious  names,  Chablis  and  Chamber- 
tin',  the  very  tinkle  of  epicurianism  with  a  final  exclama- 
tion-point of  quite  enormous  vividness.  Kumrnel — one 
imperceptible  glasslet,  not  before,  but  after  the  frugal 
repast — an  innovation  of  mine  own!" 

"My  good  Jean,"  Tatiana  protested  in  French,  "as- 
suredly your  exuberance  can  only  mask  some  terrible 

237 


MOONGLADE 

revelation  or  other  that  you  keep  for  your  atter-Kummel 
moment.  I  am  always  expecting  a  slate  on  the  head  when 
you  are  so  gay  before  the  roast." 

"Which  only  shows  how  cruelly  misunderstood  I  am 
by  the  wife  of  my  bosom,"  he  mocked.  "Pavlo,  I  take 
you  to  witness  that  your  angel-mother  is  casting  aspersions 
upon  the  immaculate  purity  of  my  mood  that  is  to  be." 

Pavlo  grinned.  "Well,  sir,"  he  said,  "personally  I 
suspect  that  dark  clouds  are  gathering  somewhere  with 
or  without  your  knowledge.  Myself,  I  feel  in  the  air  an 
elusive  but  none  the  less  convincing  sense  of  coming 
thunder.  Will  it  burst  north,  south,  east,  or  west?  Of 
course,  not  being  much  of  a  seer,  I  cannot  tell,  but  it 
is  there  somewhere;  pregnant  with  eventualities — per- 
haps only  of  'summer  lightning,'  but  I  rather  doubt 
that." 

"Hush!"  exclaimed  Tatiana.  "Don't  joke  about  more 
eventualities.  We  have  had  quite  enough  of  them  lately; 
besides,  you  both  know  that  I  am  desperately  super- 
stitious." 

"A  weakness  which  is  the  only  flaw  in  your  armor," 
observed  Salvieres. 

' '  Nonsense !' '  she  expostulated.  ' '  You  are  superstitious, 
too,  and  so  is '  Polo.'  Now  you  know  you  are, '  Polo '  dear, 
and  there  was  a  white  moth  as  long  as  that " — she  extended 
her  rounded  arm  to  its  full  extent — "bothering  about  my 
dressing-room  half  an  hour  ago.  It  nearly  committed 
suicide  by  falling  into  the  bath  I'd  just  quitted,  and  after 
flitting  and  winging  and  flopping  round  the  lights,  flew 
away  by  the  crack  of  the  door  into  Piotr's  room.  He  was 
asleep  already,  and  I  had  to  adopt  the  hunting  methods  of 
the  last  of  the  Mohicans  to  retrieve  the  ghostly  beast,  and 
bear  him,  struggling  like  a  demon,  to  the  balcony,  out  in 
the  gloaming.  Stupid  little  soul!  He  wouldn't  depart, 
although  I  blew  on  him  and  swung  my  peignoir  sleeves 
in  his  face.  There  he  hovered  defiantly,  as  if  saying, '  I'll 

238 


MOONGLADE 

get  at  the  boy  whether  you  like  it  or  not.'    Brnrrnr — 
rrrrr — !    It  made  me  feel  cold  all  down  my  back." 

"My  dear  mother,"  Pavlo  exclaimed,  raising  his  nose 
from  his  salad,  "surely  a  brave-des-braves  like  you  cannot 
be  scared  by  a  poor,  innocent  butterfly?" 

"A  poor,  innocent  butterfly!"  mocked  Tatiana.  "You 
make  me  laugh!  Vieux  grognard  though  I  may  be,  I 
don't  like  white  moths  with  three  or  four  or  five — I  didn't 
count  —  but  they  were  there  —  black  bars  across  their 
wings.  You  don't  remember,  I  suppose,  that  those  are 
unshriven  souls  wandering  sorrowfully  about  in  hope  to 
find  a  holy  priest  to  bless  them;  and  truly  if  I  were  to 
hear  that  something  untoward  has  happened  to  somebody, 
I  wouldn't  be  a  bit  astonished." 

Salvi£res  stared  at  his  wife.  "Tatiana,"  he  chided, 
half  laughingly,  "how  can  you?  Moreover,  I  rather  fancy 
your  way  of  blessing  unshriven  souls.  To  flap  your  sleeves 
in  their  faces  is  scarcely  courteous  under  the  circum- 
stances." 

' '  Good  Lord !  Jean,  please  don't  make  fun !  I  feel  queer, 
I  tell  you;  and  if  you  will  only  hurry  with  your  dessert  and 
coffee — and  of  course  your  Kummel — dear  me,  you  are 
slow  feeders ! — we  can  go  into  the  garden  and  send  all  evil 
forebodings  to  the  moon.  As  she  is  a  cloud-devourer, 
she  can  doubtless  make  shift  to  swallow  them,  too." 

"Into  the  garden?"  both  men  said  at  once.  "It  is  too 
cool  there  for  you  in  your  evening  gown." 

"Well,  then,  'Polo,'  ring  for  Marie  to  get  me  a  fur- 
lined  pelisse — a  long  one  down  to  the  feet — with  straps, 
if  possible,  to  button  beneath  my  heels,  and  a  hood  at- 
tached. Remember  the  hood!  I  had  no  idea  I  was  so 
delicate;  however,  since  you  both  think  so —  But  wait, 
Marie  must  be  dining;  I  don't  want  you  to  disturb  her." 

Salvieres  and  Pavlo  were  laughing,  and  the  lad  was 
in  the  act  of  going  to  fetch  a  scarf  himself  when  a  foot- 
man carrying  a  telegram  entered. 

239 


MOONGLADE 

"For  Monsieur  le  Due,"  he  said.  Tatiana  sat  down 
abruptly  on  the  nearest  chair,  her  face  suddenly  white. 
Pavlo  stopped  short,  looking  at  her  concernedly,  and  Sal- 
vieres quickly  tore  open  the  message. 

Very  carefully  he  refolded  the  tinted  sheet,  replaced 
it  in  its  envelope,  and,  turning  to  the  man  waiting  in 
readiness  with  pad  and  pencil,  said,  "No  answer,"  in  his 
ordinary  matter-of-fact  tone;  then  he  offered  his  arm  to 
his  wife. 

"Let  us  go  to  your  little  salon,"  he  calmly  remarked. 
Pavlo,  without  a  word  or  question,  followed  his  parents, 
looking  perturbed,  as  though  he  felt  that  his  joking 
prognostications  had  come  true. 

"And  now,"  Salvieres  said,  after  closing  the  boudoir 
door  behind  them,  "here  comes  a  very  pretty  bit  of  news. 
Don't  take  it  unnecessarily  to  heart,  Tatiana.  Laurence 
has  run  away  with  Preston  Wynne  on  her  yacht,  destina- 
tion unknown.  R6gis  de  Plenhoel  telegraphs  me  not  to 
allow  Basil  to  find  this  out,  since  as  yet  there  has  been 
no  public  scandal."  He  paused  and  glanced  first  at  his 
wife  and  then  at  his  son.  "Well?"  he  added,  after  a 
second. 

Pavlo  made  a  helpless  little  gesture  with  his  hands,  as 
one  utterly  at  a  loss  to  find  adequate  words;  Tatiana  rose 
quickly  and  whirled  toward  her  husband. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  she  cried.  "Misfortune  over 
misfortune  around  that  unfortunate  child's  head.  The 
wretched  woman!  Oh,  the  villain!  My  poor  Basil  and 
— that  poor  Mr.  Wynne,  too!  What  a  fool!" 

"You  are  the  only  person  in  the  world,"  Salvieres  ob- 
served, "who  could  make  one  feel  like  laughing  at  such 
a  catastrophe.  What  in  the  name  of  all  common  sense 
induces  you  to  pity  Wynne?" 

"Why,"  Tatiana  rejoined,  her  eyes  sparkling  with 
anger,  "because  he  is  such  a  nice  chap;  so  was  that 
young  Moray;  and,  moreover,  because  I  never  blame  the 

240 


MOONGLADE 

man  in  such  affairs.  It  is  the  woman  who  is  invariably 
the  guilty  party,  and  it  is  so  easy  to  behave  oneself,  es- 
pecially when  one  has  a  good  and  good-looking  husband. 
Besides,  fancy  any  man  landing  that  Laurence  on  his 
back  for  the  rest  of  his  natural  existence — without  being 
obliged  to  do  so.  A  second  Basil!  Good  Lord!" 

Salvieres  took  her  strong  little  hand  in  his  and  patted 
it;  but  she  was  in  no  mood  for  tenderness,  and,  tearing 
herself  away,  she  began  to  pace  the  floor,  speaking  as  she 
moved. 

"I  have  no  patience  with  misconduct — inexcusable 
misconduct — like  this!  A  cold-blooded  coquette  ruin- 
ing life  after  life,  dishonoring  everybody  concerned  with 
her.  How  do  you  suppose  that  Basil  will  ever  accept 
little  Piotr  as  his  now,  after  this  new  proof  of  Laurence's 
incorrigible  lightness?  And — oh!  but  it  is  too  atrocious! 
Now  Basil  will  kill  Preston  Wynne,  too!  He  does  not 
joke  about  such  things,  as  he  has  proved." 

"A  qui  le  dites  vous!"  muttered  Salvieres,  and  continued, 
louder:  "As  luck  will  have  it,  your  brother  is  in  China 
or  thereabouts,  and  it  is  not  likely  that  he  will  hear  of 
this  for  the  present.  Meanwhile,  it  seems  to  me  that  we 
should  hurry  our  departure.  Regis  and  I  may  be  needed 
at  any  moment — indispensable,  in  fact.  It  stands  to 
reason  that  that  infernal  woman  will  not  turn  her  yacht's 
nose  toward  the  North  Sea  or  any  Mediterranean  port. 
If  you  believe  me  she's  off  to  the  States  or  to  South 
America — and  I  wish  it  were  the  devil!"  he  wrathfully 
concluded. 

"So  do  I,"  assented  Pavlo.  "Between  all  of  them 
they  are  worrying  my  little  mother  to  pieces." 

"Nonsense!"  protested  Tatiana.  "But  it  is  true  that 
this  woman  is  really  occupying  too  much  room  on  the 
stage.  Can't  she  keep  quiet?  And  Preston  Wynne,  we 
all  took  such  a  fancy  to  him  when  he  came  with  Sir 
Robert  and  Lady  Elizabeth  to  Salvieres  two  years  ago. 

241 


MOONGLADE 

He  was  so  gay,  so  amusing — by  no  manner  of  means  the 
type  of  man  one  would  expect  to  sacrifice  his  whole  future 
for  a  worthless  woman  like  Laurence." 

"Queer!  He  told  me  once  he  didn't  approve  of  di- 
vorce," put  in  Salvieres.  "I  distinctly  remember  his 
saying  so,  and  even  denouncing  rather  vividly  the  laxity 
in  that  respect  in  his  own  country.  What's  he  going  to 
do  with  her?  I  wonder  if  she'll  ask  him  to  marry  her — 
and  she  by  birth  a  Catholic  and  now  an  Orthodox?  D'you 
think  that  after  embracing  so  much  she'll  end  by  em- 
bracing Protestantism  as  a  much-needed  ally?" 

"Jean!  But  you  are  right.  There's  no  knowing  what 
will  happen  now?  What  a  pity!  L#  petit  Wynne  was  a 
rarity !  He  knew  how  to  behave ;  knew  how  to  move  about 
a  drawing-room;  knew  how  to  eat  and  how  not  to  drink 
too  much;  knew  how  to  present  himself  and  take  leave; 
knew  that  one  does  not  wear  colored  gaiters  with  a  cut- 
away coat  and  a  top-hat;  knew  that  a  boudoir  is  not  a 
bedroom,  but  a — boude-heure — a  place  to  go  and  sulk  by 
the  hour — which  makes  me  think  I've  got  a  fine  large 
one  here,  and  at  Salvieres,  too.  It  will  come  in  useful 
to  me  now." 

"  You — useful  to  you !' '  exclaimed  Pavlo.  Running  to  his 
mother  and  throwing  his  arm  about  her  slim  waist,  he 
kissed  her  little  flushed  ear.  "You  sulk!  I'd  like  to  see 
you  just  once.  It  isn't  in  your  power.  You  simply 
can't!" 

"Oh,  leave  me  alone!"  she  objected,  but  in  a  greatly 
mollified  tone.  "You  are  a  Schmeichler;  and  what  am 
I  going  to  do  without  you,  'Polo,'  during  all  these  long 
months  to  come?" 

There  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  she  turned  almost 
brutally  to  conceal  them;  but  her  voice  betrayed  her,  and 
in  an  instant  the  lad  was  humbly  pleading  for  forgive- 
ness. 

"Oh,  mother  darling,"  he  said,  contritely,  catching 

242 


MOONGLADE 

hold  of  her  again,  "I  was  a  brute  this  afternoon.  Of 
course  I  can  obtain  leave.  What  do  they  want  with  a 
kid  like  me?  I  was  only  showing  off.  I'll  come  with  you 
and  Papa  if  you'll  let  me,  and  glad  enough  I'll  be,  my  own 
pretty  mother  dear." 

He  was  once  more  to  her  the  baby  of  yore,  caressing 
and  altogether  delicious,  and  her  heart  gave  a  great 
bound. 

"My  dear,  my  dear!"  she  said,  choking  a  little.  "Do 
you  think  I'd  really  interfere  with  your  career?  Who'd 
you  take  me  for?  No,  no!  You'll  come  to  us  after  the 
great  manceuvers,  and  then  enjoy  your  holidays  without 
any  qualms  of  conscience — a  bad  thing  to  take  about  on 
such  occasions.  But  remember  that  I  just  adore  you, 
my  little  'Polo.'  And  now,  Jean,  when  shall  we  start?" 

"To-morrow  if  you  can  manage  it,"  he  replied,  and  she 
instantly  acquiesced. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

The  pit-like  dark,  th'  impassioned  prayers  and  saintly 
For  souls  abroad,  the  life-boat  barely  inned, 
The  desperate  sirens  laboring  far  and  faintly 
To  pierce  the  wall  of  wind. 

SALVIERES  was  at  its  very  best  when  its  owners  ar- 
rived there  with  their  little  nephew — for  even  midsummer 
heat  is  on  the  Normandy  coast  entirely  bearable — and 
more  so.  Like  Plenhoel,  it  stands  on  a  lofty  cliff  fronting 
a  magnificent  sea  view.  The  Castle  dates  back  to  the 
early  days  of  the  Duchy,  and  is  built  in  two,  and  in  some 
parts  in  three,  stories  of  singularly  massive  blocks  of 
granite,  with  cloisters  above  and  below — that  is,  on  the 
side  facing  the  open  country  and  the  Vallee  de  Salvieres, 
which  alone  deserves  quite  a  separate  description,  so 
unique  and  beautiful  it  is. 

Of  course  it  is  quite  needless  to  add  that  the  Castle 
and  its  dependencies  are  of  the  purest  and  most  ancient 
Gothic  architecture.  The  Salle  des  Chevaliers  is  a  mar- 
velous place  at  the  upper  end  of  which  an  equestrian  silver 
statue  of  the  illustrious  Knight  Jehan  de  Salvieres,  first 
of  the  name,  gleams  in  the  prismatic  lights  of  a  huge 
vitraille,  whose  sunset  tints  of  rich  orange,  vivid  scarlet, 
lucent  blue,  and  emerald  green  surround  it  with  a  glory 
of  blinding  color.  The  walls  of  the  enceinte  crown  the 
whole  promontory  and  inclose  the  immensity  of  chateau, 
chapel,  towers,  keep,  Cour-d'Honneur,  armory,  and  -place- 
d'armes — not  to  mention  an  inner  garden  of  such  ex- 

244 


MOONGLADE 

tent  that  its  measurements  would  only  court  contradic- 
tion from  those  who  have  not  seen  it — which,  to  say  the 
least,  is  a  misfortune  not  to  be  atoned  for  by  loudly  pro- 
claimed skepticism.  At  any  rate,  Salvieres  would  be  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  show-places  of  France  and  Na- 
varre, more  so  than  even  St.-Michel,  Josselin,  Chenon- 
ceax,  or  Chambord,  Le  Chateau  de  la  Reine  Jeanne,  Couci, 
or  Artheze  de  Foix,  were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  neither 
Jean  nor  Tatiana,  since  their  reign  there,  had  cared  to 
have  a  flock  of  Cook's  tourists  clattering  over  its  beauti- 
ful floors,  or  measuring  its  art  treasures  by  the  length  of 
their  umbrellas  with  guttural  yelps  of  amazement  and 
wonder — when  not  exclamagations  of  incredulity,  and 
sometimes  worse  than  incredulity,  where  religious  pic- 
tures or  objects  of  faith  are  concerned. 

When  at  Palitzinovna  the  Salvieres  certainly  kept  great 
state,  but  when  at  Salvieres  they  once  more  entered  into 
the  grandeur  and  splendor  that  belonged  to  this  ancestral 
home,  and  that  through  the  centuries  had  never  yielded 
one  iota  to  modernism  except  in  what  concerned  creature 
comforts.  There  was  an  army  of  servants  in  attendance, 
a  battalion  of  gardes-chasses  and  gardes-forestiers,  an 
almoner,  a  seneschal,  a  squad  of  halberdiers  in  antique 
costume.  The  stables  contained  no  less  than  two  hun- 
dred horses  at  all  times,  and  the  private  harbor,  in  a 
small  bay  at  the  foot  of  the  huge  promontory,  floated  a 
steam-yacht,  several  yawls,  and  a  regular  fleet  of  other 
craft  flying  the  ducal  pennant.  The  village  of  Salvieres, 
strange  to  state,  has  never  once  showed  signs  of  accept- 
ing as  a  fact  the  republican  form  of  government  under 
which  France  labors.  More  stubborn  than  Bretons  even 
— and  that  is  saying  the  uttermost  one  can — the  canny 
Normans,  who  according  to  the  most  ancient  history  can 
never  be  tricked  into  expressing  an  opinion,  nodded  their 
cotton-capped  heads  when  addressed  on  that  subject. 
"It  might  well  be."  "Perchance  it  was  so."  "Who 

245 


MOONGLADE 

could  tell?"  "Ah!  was  that  it?"  So  far  they  would 
concede;  but,  as  they  guilelessly  added,  they  of  Salvieres 
knew  none  but  their  Duke  (Jean  might  have  been  Sov- 
ereign Duke  of  Normandy,  to  hear  them),  "their  own 
Duke,"  whose  father  and  grandfather  and  great-great- 
great-great-grandfather  had  also  been  their  suzerain  back 
to  times  immemorial;  so  what  did  it  matter  whether  in 
that  blackguard  Paris  (cette  gueuse  de  Paris)  there  sat  in 
non-majesty  a  frock-coated  man  wearing — on  state  oc- 
casions— a  broad  scarlet  cordon  across  his  shirt-front  and, 
mayhap,  a  pair  of  white  spats  on  his  plebeian  feet  ?  "  They 
of  Salvieres"  had  naught  to  do  with  him,  which,  as  they 
gave  one  to  understand,  was  a  mercy  of  the  good  God.  The 
thriftiness  of  the  Normans  is  as  proverbial  as  their  ob- 
stinacy and  craft.  Had  the  Republic's  President  pre- 
vented them  from  selling  their  fish,  their  eggs,  their  but- 
ter or  apples  to  the  best  advantage,  he  might  have  been 
worth  considering,  but  the  Due  de  Salvieres  was  their 
liege-lord,  a  splendidly  generous  one  at  that,  and  so  they 
were  satisfied  that  all  was  well  now  and  hereafter,  which 
praiseworthy  feelings  were  entirely  pleasing  to  themselves 
and  to  him  also. 

Of  course,  Tatiana,  ever  since  her  advent  there  as  a 
bride,  had  made  herself  idolized — not  so  easy  a  task  in  the 
land  of  the  apple-orchards,  for  the  people  there  do  not 
wear  their  hearts  as  a  sleeve-ornament.  Her  frank,  boyish 
ways  interwoven  with  crystal-pure  high  breeding,  her 
complete  fearlessness  at  sea  and  ashore,  her  prowess  on 
horseback  (they  are  mighty  horse-breeders  in  Normandy) 
filled  them  with  admiration;  and  the  then  mayor  of  the 
neighboring  little  town — who  invariably  pulled  off  his 
tasseled  bonnet-de-coton  when  she  met  him  in  the  exer- 
cise of  his  functions  and  apologized  for  wearing  a  tri- 
colored  scarf  about  his  vast  middle — had  once  been  heard 
to  remark :  "  That  Duchess  isn't  a  foreigner,  nor  a  stranger 
— not  a  bit — no,  she  is  a  thoroughbred  Normande,  born 

246 


MOONGLADE 

farther  north  than  we  are,  that's  all!"  This,  for  a  won- 
der, perfectly  straight  and  outspoken  expose*  of  feeling, 
had  won  general  and  popular  approval.  Tatiana  was 
accepted  as  a  Normande  from  farther  north,  V'l&  tout! 
And  so  it  had  remained  ever  since. 

Piotr,  delighted  to  be  back  on  the  sea  edge,  was  daily 
clamoring  for  his  "little  darling  Malou";  and  one  fine 
evening  Salvi^res,  who  had  spent  a  few  days  at  Plenhoel 
to  confer  with  Regis  about  that  idiotic  elopement  of  Lau- 
rence, came  home  with  him  and  the  "Gamin."  Piotr's 
explosions  of  joy  at  finding  her  again  were  so  exuberant 
as  to  very  nearly  exhaust  even  Tatiana's  long-suffering 
stock  of  patience  with  him.  In  her  heart  she  was  think- 
ing: "It  is  not  a  child's  enthusiasm;  it  is  a  real,  bona-fide 
passion.  What  a  pity  Basil  is  not  and  never  will  be  free !" 

Marguerite  was  still  wholly  unchanged.  "A  smiling 
moonglade,"  Salvi£res  once  paraphrased,  gazing  at  her 
as  she  stood  with  her  arm  about  Piotr's  neck  on  the  wide 
balcony  of  the  Salle  des  Chevaliers,  watching  the  stars 
appear  one  by  one  in  the  ultramarine  sky  above  the  rock- 
ing waters  of  the  Channel.  Slim  and  extraordinarily 
girlish  in  her  white  frock,  she  made  a  lovely  silhouette 
against  the  blue  infinite,  and  her  clear  laugh  at  some  re- 
mark of  the  little  boy's  held  no  rift  of  disappointment  or 
sadness.  That  she  had  suffered,  and  suffered  deeply, 
was  no  longer  a  secret  to  Salvi^res  or  Tatiana,  and  scarcely 
so  even  to  Regis  the  optimist,  but  no  allusion  from  any 
of  them  had  ever  disturbed  her  quietude  and  admirable 
self-control.  It  goes  without  saying  that  she  had  not 
been  told  about  Laurence's  escapades.  The  death  of 
Captain  Moray  had  been  discreetly  announced  as  due  to  an 
accident,  the  separation  of  Basil  from  his  wife  as  a  mere 
temporary  convenience,  since  Laurence's  dislike  of  long 
travels  .had  prevented  her  from  accompanying  her  hus- 
band to  Mongolia;  but  when  Piotr  arrived  with  his  aunt 
and  uncle  at  Salvi&res,  her  good  sense  had  told  her  that 

24? 


MOONGLADE 

there  must  be  something  that  was  purposely  being  kept 
from  her.  Indeed,  the  little  chap  had  at  once  explained  to 
her  that  "mamma "  had  left  Tverna  all  of  a  sudden  without 
"papa,"  and  that  "papa" — but  this  she  at  first  did  not 
believe — had  gone  away  afterward,"  very  angry  and  frown- 
ing awfully,  without  kissing  him,  Piotr."  But  when 
challenged  by  that  precocious  infant  to  ask  the  faithful 
Garrassime  if  this  was  not  the  exact  truth,  she  had  for- 
borne to  do  so,  warned  by  something  in  the  old  man's 
attitude  that  he  would  not  speak  to  her  about  the  mat- 
ter, and  by  her  own  feelings  that  it  was  better  for  her,  in 
any  case,  to  remain  in  ignorance  of  the  real  state  of  affairs. 

All  this  grew  to  be  extremely  unreassuring,  but  the 
"Gamin's"  courage  was  not  of  a  common  order.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  it  might,  without  the  least  exaggeration, 
have  been  called  Spartan,  for  her  smile  was  never  shadowy, 
her  bearing  never  languid,  and  soon  she  was  the  very  soul 
of  the  old  castle  by  the  sea,  as  she  had  always  been  that 
of  Plenhoel. 

So  did  the  days  at  Salvi&res  slip  like  bright  beads  from 
a  many-colored  necklace;  one  by  one,  diversified  by  ex- 
cursions, rides,  drives  to  the  old  abbeys  and  shrines  with 
which  that  province  of  France  is  dotted,  picnics  in  the 
forest  or  on  the  caverned  shore,  sails  on  the  amusingly 
choppy  water,  and  chases  after  elusive  crawfish  by  lantern- 
light  up  the  course  of  the  cool  little  river  that  flows  across 
the  immense  estate.  Piotr  seemed  to  have  lost  his  re- 
grettable propensity  for  sudden  fits  of  fury,  and  was  the 
happiest  little  creature  on  earth.  Jean  and  Tatiana, 
cheered  by  Regis's  unfailing  good-temper  and  rose- 
colored  way  of  looking  at  things — especially  as  they  felt 
certain  that  Basil  had  so  far  heard  nothing  of  the  latest 
developments — breathed  more  easily. 

"The  calm  before  the  storm,"  Garrassime,  whom  noth- 
ing escaped,  said  to  himself.  He  had  no  confidence  in 
the  future,  but  he  wisely  kept  his  own  counsel. 

248 


MOONGLADE 

At  the  beginning  of  September  a  succession  of  squalls 
ended  by  a  regular  gale  of  the  type  which  churns  the  Chan- 
nel into  amazing  emotions.  The  North  Sea  and  the  Atlan- 
tic, hereditary  enemies  as  they  are,  never  miss  an  occasion 
to  dash  at  each  other's  throats  on  what  they  evidently 
consider  a  stretch  of  neutral  water;  and  when  this  war- 
ring at  close  range  begins,  both  coasts  had  best  draw  in 
their  horns,  for  there  is  certain  to  occur  what  the  Bretons 

and  Normans  call  graphically  "de  la  casse." 

******* 

Several  wrecks  had  been  reported,  and  the  life-saving 
station  at  Salvieres,  lavishly  endowed  and  equipped  by 
Jean — for  there  are  long  stretches  of  bare  shore  on  either 
side  of  the  Castle  where  no  government  bdteau  de  sauve- 
tage  is  housed — was,  so  to  speak,  day  and  night  on  the 
alert.  On  the  fourth  day  of  the  gale  (and  according  to 
the  weather-wise  there,  if  a  gale  lasts  thrice  over  twenty- 
four  hours,  it  is  a  bad  business)  the  entire  household  was 
awakened  about  four  hi  the  morning  by  the  appalling 
noise  of  a  storm  such  as  even  in  that  region  is  something 
of  a  rarity.  Mountainous  waves  escaladed  the  cliff, 
slavering  with  rage  at  their  incapacity  to  scale  them  en- 
tirely; the  wind  raised  so  hoarse  a  voice  that  one  could 
not  hear  oneself  talk,  even  in  a  closed  room  with  walls 
all  of  nine  feet  thick;  and  the  air  outside  was  so  dense 
with  spume  and  flying  spindrift  that  the  night  had  grown 
old  without  the  faintest  hint  of  dawn. 

Assembled  in  the  Salle  des  Chevaliers,  the  family  and 
a  number  of  servants  awaited  God  only  knew  what! 
There  was  an  impression  of  disaster  in  the  all-embracing 
clangor  which  none  could  overlook  or  disregard,  used  as 
they  all  were  to  similar  manifestations,  and  as  the  bell 
for  matins  faintly  pierced  the  uproar,  all  filed  laboriously 
along  the  cloisters  into  the  chapel  where  the  Abbe"  de 
Kerdren,  the  Duke's  cousin  and  chaplain,  was  kneeling 
on  the  altar  steps. 

17  249 


MOONGLADE 

He  rose  as  they  entered  and  faced  round  toward  them, 
his  hands  still  clasped  and  his  finely  modeled  features 
looking  white  and  drawn  in  the  yellow  light  of  the  blessed 
candles — a  tall  and  martial  figure,  whose  vestments  took 
upon  him  the  look  of  knightly  coat-armor,  for  he  had 
begun  life  as  a  naval  officer,  and  had  only  entered  holy 
orders  after  the  death  of  his  bride  of  two  months,  killed 
in  a  hunting  accident. 

"  Angelus  Domini  nuntiavit  Mariae"  he  began,  raising 
his  voice,  for  here  too  the  roar  of  sea  and  wind  was  deaf- 
ening. 

Jean  and  Marguerite,  kneeling  side  by  side  on  the 
purple  cushions  of  the  last  step — Tatiana  and  Re"gis  with 
Piotr  between  them  were  close  to  the  draped  rail — could 
scarcely  hear  the  prayer,  and  as  she  whispered  it  on  her 
moonstone  beads  she  suddenly  thought  of  one  line  in  a 
ballad  that  she  loved  and  often  sang: 

Father,  save  those  at  sea  to-night. 
Miserere  Domine  I 

Was  it  profane  to  have  thought  of  that  just  now? 
Strenuously  she  tried  to  force  herself  out  of  that  train 
of  thought,  but  the  words  of  matins,  of  the  morning 
prayer,  oddly  eluded  her,  and  instead  she  found  herself 
repeating  mechanically  the  "  recommendation  "  for  a  de- 
parting soul: 

"  Kyrie  eleison 
Christe  eleison 
Sancta- Maria,  Ora  pro  eo  .  .  ." 

What  ailed  her,  she  wondered,  and  hastily  she  implored: 

"Pax  huic  domini 
Et  omnibus  habiiantibus  in  ea — " 

giving  the  response  in  the  same  breath  as  the  "  supplica- 
tion" in  her  sudden  and  unaccountable  distress. 
Sheets  of  rain  were  sluicing  against  the  painted  win- 

250 


MOONGLADE 

dows  of  the  little  church — rain  that,  caught  up  by  the 
frantic  wind,  slanted  before  it  and  struck  almost  hori- 
zontally at  the  glass.  Again  without  very  explainable 
reasons  Marguerite  shivered  and  went  on  praying  fer- 
vently until  the  blast  paused,  as  if  to  take  breath.  And 
then  there  happened  during  that  sinister  lull  one  of  those 
phenomena  that  landsmen  so  seldom  see,  for  a  storm- 
light — snatched  from  the  sun  rising  somewhere  out  of  view 
beyond  the  cloud-roof  that  still  closed  down  the  darkness 
upon  the  world — smote  the  great  rose-window  behind  the 
high  altar  with  a  dull  orange  jet  of  flame  that  for  an  in- 
stant seemed  to  set  it  on  fire.  It  sank,  flared  up  once 
more  for  the  beat  of  a  heart,  fell,  and  was  replaced  by  a 
flashing  zigzag  of  intensely  brilliant  green,  seen  and  lost 
in  the  same  breath  while  it  bisected  the  gold-and-white 
fleur-de-lysbd  glass  of  the  upper  window. 

Marguerite  felt  she  must  be  dreaming,  but  at  her  side 
she  saw  Salvieres  rise  quickly  to  his  feet,  and  she  imitated 
him.  The  abbe"  was  just  pronouncing  the  last  Amen,  and 
with  his  face  turned  toward  the  altar  he  had  also  seen, 
for  after  a  rapid  genuflection  he  joined  the  others. 

"A  wreck  somewhere!"  he  brusquely  stated,  as  he  al- 
most ran  down  the  side-steps,  his  hand  at  the  fastening 
of  his  surplice,  his  sea-blue  eyes  wide  with  the  passion 
of  his  first  profession — a  sailor  from  head  to  foot — in  a 
cassock ! 

It  did  not  take  them  long  to  wrap  themselves  in  oil- 
skins and  don  sou' westers:  Salvieres,  Re"gis,  and  the 
abbe".  The  great  alarm-bell  of  the  Castle,  already  sound- 
ing tocsin-wise,  succeeded  in  overtoning  the  tempest  by 
dismal  fits  and  starts.  Marguerite  ran  along  the  cloisters, 
snatched  up  a  hooded  coat,  and,  followed  breathlessly  by 
Garrassime  (who  had  left  Piotr  in  the  Duchess's  care), 
made  at  full  speed  for  the  chemin  de  ronde  outside  the 
chancel.  The  men  of  the  house  were  no  longer  in  sight, 
and  as  soon  as  she  turned  the  corner  to  the  cliff-path  she 

251 


MOONGLADE 

caught  the  full  force  of  the  wind  and  tried  to  battle  against 
it;  but  at  first  she  could  not  succeed,  and  was  forced  to 
fall  back  under  the  lee  of  a  buttress.  By  then  Garrassime 
had  caught  up  with  her.  "Don't  go,  Illustrious;  don't!" 
he  tried  to  shout,  but  a  gust  swooped  down  his  throat 
and  he  stood  gasping  beside  her,  wiping  the  rain  from 
his  eyes. 

The  wind  was  whooping  louder,  whirling  in  waves  of 
swiftness  and  sound  now  close  to  the  ground,  now  high 
up  aloft — a  regular  typhoon  of  a  storm — and  it  was  dark 
as  pitch,  too,  for  even  the  ghastly  storm-light  had  disap- 
peared, swallowed  by  the  tempest.  Twice  Marguerite 
attempted  to  peer  around  the  angle  of  the  buttress,  her 
hand  shielding  her  eyes,  and  twice  she  was  flung  back; 
but  something  impelled  her  forward  again,  some  premoni- 
tion she  could  not  understand;  and  all  at  once  in  the  chaos 
beyond,  as,  clutching  the  rough  granite,  she  was  bending 
half  across  its  sharp  edge,  she  saw  a  tear  in  the  blackness, 
a  stripe  of  pulsating  red — to  the  east  of  north — a  flash  of 
blinding  green,  and  then  a  tossing  ball  of  whiteness  that 
might  be  a  masthead  light. 

A  wreck?  Yes,  a  wreck,  and  what  could  live  in  such 
a  sea?  If  there  was  a  sinking  boat  out  there  in  the  dark- 
ness, with  men  clinging  desperately  to  the  rigging,  they 
had  best  not  pray  for  human  help — that  she  knew — and 
she  sent  a  glance  heavenward  where  no  heaven  was  to 
be  seen.  A  dreadful  fear  for  her  paladin  of  a  father, 
for  Jean  de  Salvi£res,  for  the  sailor -abb6  whom  she 
revered  and  loved  with  all  her  heart,  shot  through  her 
to  add  to  her  wretchedness.  She  was  aware  that,  peril 
or  no  peril,  they  would  not  hesitate  a  second  to  do  much 
more  than  their  duty:  and  at  last,  detaching  herself  from 
the  protection  of  the  huge  wall,  she  battled  on,  half  creep- 
ing, leaning  against  the  gusts,  fighting  every  inch  of  the 
way  to  the  cliff  edge.  Down  the  sheer  face  of  the  rock 
to  the  narrow  beach  of  pebbles  below,  where  in  half  an 

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hour  the  breakers  would  be  thundering,  ran  an  iron  cable — 
a  short  cut  on  ordinary  occasions  for  sailors  and  coast- 
guards; but  just  now  a  mere  vibrating  thread  stretched 
downward  to  the  Pit.  She  had  stumbled  many  times  and 
fallen  twice,  for  the  path  was  slippery  as  ice,  and  as  her 
hand  came  in  contact  with  the  stanchion  she  paused  to 
listen;  Garrassime  at  her  shoulder,  braced  and  rigid  like 
a  tree,  holding  her  with  both  arms  for  fear  she  would  be 
carried  over  the  ghastly  brink. 

Another  rocket,  then  another,  and  another.  A  little 
sob  choked  Marguerite,  straining  her  eyes  in  the  slowly, 
slowly  dragging  dawn  that  now  was  beginning  to  make 
the  gloom  more  visible.  She  was  at  home  in  storms — a 
child  of  the  tempest,  Re"gis  often  said — and  for  herself 
she  was  not  caring;  but  when  gradually  she  began  to 
discern  away  down  there  on  the  foam-flecked  shingle  two 
darker  masses,  evidently  the  life-boats  and  a  throng  of 
men  fighting  forward  to  the  launching,  all  possible  diffi- 
culty was  wiped  out  of  her  mind,  and,  tearing  herself  free 
from  Garrassime,  she  started  forward. 

"Mother  of  God!"  roared  the  Russian,  his  gray  hair 
fairly  bristling  on  his  head.  "You  are  not  going  to  try 
that!"  But  Marguerite,  holding  to  the  cable-head,  was 
peering  downward  for  the  first  of  the  unequal  footholds 
cut  in  the  rock,  and  his  voice  was  lost  in  those  of  wind 
and  sea.  Under  her  long  coat  she  wore  a  woolen  gown 
made  in  a  single  piece,  a  handy  garment  she  had  hastily 
put  on  when  she  had  been  roused  by  the  storm,  so,  merely 
kicking  off  her  little  sodden  slippers,  and  before  he  could 
more  effectually  interpose  himself,  she  was  over  and  al- 
ready descending,  her  face  to  the  cliff,  her  back  to  the 
unseen  void.  Garrassime  was  a  strong  man,  but  no 
sailor;  besides,  he  was  so  tall  and  heavy  that  to  follow  her 
would  mean  sure  destruction  for  both  of  them;  but  he 
suddenly  remembered  a  fissure  that  slanted  down  the  cliff- 
side  some  two  hundred  yards  further  on,  and,  praying  with 

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all  his  might  that  she  might  be  spared,  he  ran  for  it — bent 
nearly  double  beneath  the  terrible  weight  of  the  wind, 
his  heart  beating  with  anguish  against  his  ribs — anguish 
for  her  whom  he  had  learned  to  worship,  the  dear,  sweet, 
daring,  foolhardy  little  lady  of  Plenhoel. 

Through  wildly  tossing  clouds  the  eastern  sky  was  now 
showing  faintly  gray,  and  the  "Gamin"  began  to  see  the 
notches  that  she  touched  one  after  another  with  her  silk- 
shod  feet.  She  must  be  half-way  now,  and,  sparing  her 
breath,  clinging  hard,  flattening  her  little  body  to  the 
dripping  crag,  she  doggedly  continued  to  crawl  down,  hear- 
ing dully  the  clang  of  the  tocsin  far,  far  above  her  head. 

"Ah,"  she  suddenly  cried,  aloud,  "I  am  in  the  water! 
The  tide  must  be  coming  fast!" 

She  let  go  the  cable  from  her  torn  and  bleeding  palms, 
turned  around,  leaning  against  the  base  of  the  rock,  and 
searched  the  maddened  sea — white  as  a  tourmente  of  snow. 
No !  there  was  no  sign  of  a  ship  on  the  tossing  froth,  save 
two  black  spots  appearing  and  disappearing  convulsively 
in  the  spouting  water — the  life-boats  she  knew — but 
whether  they  were  coming  shoreward  or  going  out  toward 
some  invisible  point  she  could  not  tell.  Determined  to 
see  better,  she  climbed  half  a  dozen  of  the  wet  steps  again 
and  gazed  fixedly  seaward.  At  last  something  flecked 
with  white  and  red,  she  thought,  caught  her  eye;  it  was 
rolling  in  and  out  among  the  breakers,  and  behind  it 
there  were  other  objects  lugubriously  bobbing  up  and 
down.  She  jumped,  and  ran  plungingly  toward  the  thing 
nearest  to  the  beach,  finally  wading  thigh-deep  in  the 
broken  back-wash  of  the  flooding  tide;  snatched  desperate- 
ly at  the  queer  bundle,  and  dragged  it  ashore,  pulling  it 
up  after  her  with  all  her  strength.  Gasping  for  breath, 
she  stopped  at  the  shingle-top,  and  before  investigating 
what  she  held  she  set  her  teeth.  A  white  serge  skirt,  two 
narrow  stockinged  feet,  a  torrent  of  drenched  hair!  She 
turned  it  over,  trembling  violently,  and,  falling  on  her 


MOONGLADE 

knees,  saw  the  beautiful  features — unspoiled,  unscarred 
even,  and  strangely  sculptural — of  Laurence  Palitzin.  On 
her  breast,  embroidered  across  the  white  jersey,  the  words 
Wild  Rose — the  name  of  her  yacht — made  Marguerite 
cry  out  with  a  new  horror.  For  a  moment  she  crouched 
there,  seeking  mechanically  for  the  heart,  the  wrist,  of  this 
first  victim  recovered;  but  she  could  find  no  sign  of  life; 
and,  tears  running  down  her  face  mingling  with  the  rain 
and  brine,  she  asked  herself  how  she  could  at  least  save 
the  body  before  the  galloping  flood  claimed  it  again.  Of 
herself  she  had  no  time  to  think,  and  at  that',  minute, 
clambering  out  of  the  fissure,  Garrassime  stumbled  toward 
her  with  reckless  haste.  Before  she  had  either  heard  or 
seen  him  he  was  at  her  side,  had  caught  up  the  body  of 
his  lost  mistress — which  a  life-belt  still  encircled  in  futile 
mockery — and,  drawing  Marguerite  by  the  hand,  was 
hastening  to  the  higher  beach  near  the  life-station's  weed- 
grown  stairs. 

Just  then,  riding  a  tremendous  wave,  the  first  life-boat — 
the  one  that  bore  Tatiana's  name — toppled  half-over  as 
it  took  the  shore,  and  Marguerite  vaguely  saw  her  father 
and  her  uncle  Jean  leap  into  the  whirling  water,  and  re- 
ceive from  the  abba's  arms  another  limp  and  apparently 
lifeless  body  that  somehow  seemed  all  dislocated;  but  by 
this  time  the  girl  was  past  all  emotion  and  listlessly 
looked  on  as  they  plunged  forward  with  their  burden. 

It  was  as  full  daylight  by  now  as  it  would  be  that  morn- 
ing, and  the  dimness  that  fell  from  the  sky  and  rose  from 
the  sea  showed  with  astonishing  precision  the  helpless 
form  in  soaked  white  flannels,  the  head  thrown  back  and 
rolling  horribly  from  side  to  side.  Who  it  was  she  did 
not  care.  She  watched  the  grim  procession  of  sauve- 
teurs  carrying  more  bodies,  saw  the  other  life-boat  rush 
up  almost  atop  of  its  companion,  and  the  abbe"  turn 
again  to  the  swirling  tide  to  see  if  yet  more  derelicts  were 
floating  up  with  it.  Then  she  found  herself,  somehow  or 

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MOONGLADE 

other,  in  the  round  room  of  the  "Station,"  staring  at  some- 
thing upon  an  already  dripping  truckle-bed,  and  R£gis 
and  Jean  bending  over  a  placid  white  face  with  closed, 
dark-fringed  lids,  and  a  relaxed  mouth  into  which  some 
one  was  attempting  to  pour  brandy. 

It  was  all  so  much  like  a  nightmare  that  once  or  twice 
Marguerite  shook  herself  as  if  to  waken  her  palsied  facul- 
ties. Surely  she  had  seen  that  face  before.  Where? 
When?  Ah!  at  Lady  Seton's  in  the  Meurice  apartment 
a  night  some  few  centuries  ago.  .  .  . 

Malgre  les  brisants—et  I'orage 
II  atteint  la  cote  .  .  . 

Had  she  not  sung  that  herself? 

Pauvre  P'tit  Gas! 
Pauvre  P'ttt  Gasl 

She  roused  with  a  shiver.  "  Preston  Wynne !"  she  mut- 
tered, her  teeth  chattering.  "What  is  he  doing  here?" 

The  Salvidres  doctor,  who  had  been  there  all  the  time, 
it  appeared,  had  taken  possession  of  Preston  Wynne,  and 
Garrassime  was  pulling  her  gently  away.  He  was  not 
dead  then?  "Pauvre  P'tit  Gas!" 

The  others,  for  whom  there  was  no  hope,  were  being 
piled  like  cord-wood  in  the  other  room  of  the  "Station," 
where  the  life-savers  on  duty  watched  all  night;  but  she 
passed  this  new  horror  with  scarce  a  glance — quite  passive 
now,  leaning  a  little  against  Garrassime  as  he  led  her 
away;  while  R6gis  and  Jean,  the  doctor  and  the  abbe", 
tirelessly  pursued  their  energetic  ministrations. 

At  last  a  faint  tinge  of  color  began  to  underly  the 
lividity  of  Preston's  face,  his  eyelids  moved  ever  so 
slightly;  in  a  short  while  he  feebly  tried  to  resist  the  or- 
deal of  resuscitation  he  was  passing  through — the  agonies 
of  rebirth — under  those  skilled  fingers.  Then  the  young 
doctor,  sweat  dripping  from  his  forehead,  paused  in  his 

256 


MOONGLADE 

exhausting  work  just  long  enough  to  murmur,  hoarsely: 
"He  will  live,  I  think,  but  I  fear  he  is  badly  hurt." 

They  did  not  question  him — standing  ready  to  help 
when  the  medical  man  should  take  up  his  task  again. 
Salvieres  was  watching  intently  the  spasmodic  changes  of 
expression  upon  Preston's  drawn  white  features. 

"A  little  more  brandy,  please,"  the  doctor  said;  and 
the  abbe  held  out  the  flask  and  raised  the  patient's  head 
with  deft  precaution.  This  time  he  swallowed  a  few  drops 
voluntarily,  it  seemed,  and  the  doctor,  bending  his  ear 
to  the  blue  lips  until  it  almost  touched  them,  heard  the 
words,  "Is  it  you?" 

"Who  do  you  want?"  he  asked,  slowly  and  very  dis- 
tinctly; but  Preston's  mouth  closed  tight  with  a  queer, 
distressed  droop. 

All  at  once  his  eyes  opened  and  he  fell  to  staring  at 
the  heavy  oaken  beams  crisscrossing  the  ceiling.  Pres- 
ently they  closed  again,  and  he  fell  to  whispering  softly 
in  that  brainless  self-absorption  that  characterizes  the 
sayings  of  unconsciousness: 

"I'll  catch  you — jump!  A  fool —  Yes!  God — I've 
not  lived  according  to  the  Pure  Food  Law  lately.  Lau- 
rence, where  are  you?  Get  busy.  .  .  there's  no  time!" 

The  four  men  around  the  bed  glanced  at  one  another. 
To  two  of  them,  Re"gis  and  Salvidres,  who  had  known 
Preston  in  other  days,  this  persistent  and  purely  me- 
chanical survival  of  originality  in  speech  verged  on  the 
sinister,  and  they  turned  about  with  a  simultaneous 
motion.  They  felt  like  running  away. 

The  abbe  had  knelt  down  by  the  bed  and  was  whisper- 
ing something  that  the  others  could  not  hear,  so  they 
drew  back  farther  yet. 

"You  say  he  will  live?"  Salvidres  asked  of  the  young 
doctor. 

"Yes — that  is,  I  think  so,  Monsieur  le  Due,"  was  the 
guarded  answer.  "But  I  am  almost  certain  that  there 

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MOONGLADE 

is  some  grave  injury  to  the  spine;  the  lower  part  of  the 
body  seems — inert." 

"Struck  on  a  rock  or  on  a  bit  of  wreckage,  you  think?" 

"Very  likely.  But  one  can't  tell  yet  without  a  more 
thorough  examination.  Where  did  you  find  him,  Mon- 
sieur le  Marquis?"  the  young  medico  asked  of  R6gis. 

"Caught  him  on  the  rebound,  as  it  were,"  the  latter 
replied,  "from  the  heart  of  a  wave.  I  saw  an  arm  dark 
against  the  foam  by  the  light  of  our  lanterns,  and  grabbed 
at  it.  It  was  not  so  difficult,  though  the  force  of  the  pull 
nearly  wrenched  my  own  arm  out  of  its  socket." 

The  doctor  nodded.  "I  dare  not  move  him  until  I 
can  find  out  what  is  really  the  matter.  He  must  be  kept 
here  for  the  present." 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  opening  of  the  door.  On 
the  sill  stood  the  captain  of  the  life-savers,  one  rough  hand 
to  the  dripping  brim  of  his  sou'wester. 

"Pardon,  Monsieur  le  Due"  he  said,  "another  live  un 
with  a  broken  arm  brought  ashore.  He  is  here  outside. 
He  says  he's  the  first  mate  of  the  Wild  Rose." 

"Ah,"  muttered  Salvieres,  "perhaps  now  we  can  hear 
how  all  this  came  to  pass."  And  with  a  quick  caution 
to  Re"gis  he  hurried  into  the  passage. 

The  man  standing  outside  the  door,  one  arm  hanging 
limply  at  his  side,  was  white  under  his  tan  and  glistening 
with  wet.  He  was  a  handsome  chap  above  the  middle 
height,  with  a  trim  blond  beard  cut  to  a  point  in  naval 
style,  clear  gray  eyes,  and — even  in  this  crisis — a  rather 
proud  way  of  carrying  his  head. 

Salvieres  looked  sharply  at  him.  The  horrors  of  that 
terrible  summer  night,  the  long  swim  ashore,  and  the  pain 
of  his  hurt  had  left  their  mark  quite  unmistakably  on  the 
second-in-command  of  the  big  steam-yacht  that  had  just 
foundered ;  but  this  did  not  affect  the  impassiveness  so  well 
in  keeping  with  the  square  jaw  and  firm  lips  of  the  man. 

"When  the  doctor  has  set  your  arm  I  wish  to  have  a 

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MOONGLADE 

talk  with  you,"  Salvieres  said.  "  Sit  down.  I'll  fetch  you 
some  brandy" ;  and  he  pointed  to  the  stone  bench  running 
along  the  wall. 

"Sit  down";  he  repeated,  but  there  was  no  answer. 
Through  the  thick  panes  of  one  of  the  round  windows, 
the  mate  was  staring  across  the  lashed  waters  at  the  foot 
of  the  promontory  whereon  the  "Station"  stood,  his 
square  chin  thrust  forward,  his  resolute  lips  compressed. 

"Keeping  the  Penvan  light  east-southeast,  and  having 
the  South  Bay  Rock  west  by  north,  we  should  have  found 
the  gullet  even  in  such  weather,"  he  said,  slowly,  without 
looking  again  at  Salvieres. 

"Yes,"  the  latter  assented.  "Who  was  master?" 
He  had  sent  a  message  to  the  doctor  to  come  as  soon  as 
he  could,  and  now  stood  motionless  beside  the  sailor. 

"Captain  Braines — an  Englishman,  who  had  never 
made  a  mistake  in  seamanship — stainless  record."  The 
tone  was  monotonous  but  convincing. 

"Yes,"  Salvieres  said  again,  "but  don't  speak  now; 
wait  till  you  feel  better. ' '  And  he  handed  him  the  tumbler 
the  captain  of  the  life-station  had  just  brought. 

"I  can  answer  your  questions  now,  sir." 

"Better  not  till  a  bit  later.  Ah,  here's  the  doctor"; 
and,  pulling  off  his  coat,  Salvi£res  prepared  to  assist  him. 

An  hour  after,  as  Salvieres  and  his  cousin  were  step- 
ping upon  the  Castle  esplanade,  a  footman — fighting  the 
wind,  his  powdered  head  bent  to  the  blast  and  much  the 
worse  for  wear — met  them  at  a  run,  clutching  a  telegram 
tightly  in  his  fist. 

"What  now!"  grumbled  Salvieres,  taking  refuge  in  a 
mullioned  doorway  and  tearing  the  envelope  open  with 
his  damp  fingers. 

Am  coming  to  you  at  once.  Received  infamous  news  in  Shang- 
hai from  my  agent.  Send  wireless  as  soon  as  feasible  P.  O.  S.  S. 
Mondoria,  giving  latest  facts  and  destination  of  Wild  Rose  in  cipher. 
Make  all  possible  inquiries  meanwhile.  BASIL. 

a  $9 


MOONGLADE 

Salvi&res  stared  for  a  full  minute  at  the  paper  trembling 
in  his  hand,  and  then  passed  it  silently  to  Rdgis. 

His  sou'wester  pushed  back,  his  blond  mustache  falling 
on  both  sides  of  his  mouth  &  la  Vercingetorix,  the  Marquis 
de  Plenhoel  said  nothing  at  all,  very  emphatically. 

"Right  you  are!"  assented  Salviires,  just  as  if  he  had 
spoken.  "Come,  we  have  work  to  do."  As,  indeed, 
they  had,  and,  following  the  line  of  least  resistance,  they 
finally  found  themselves  engulfed  by  a  side  entrance. 

In  the  central  hall  they  were  met  by  Tatiana  and  Mar- 
guerite. Both  were  very  pale  and  very  collected,  and 
their  voices  were  perfectly  calm.  Piotr,  they  explained, 
was  asleep,  with  Garrassime  on  watch.  ' '  The — Laurence ' ' 
— here  Tatiana  faltered  a  little — "has  been  placed  in  a 
chapelle  -  ardente.  She  —  she  is  very  beautiful;  the  sea 
has  been  merciful."  And  now  her  heroes — she  dwelt 
tenderly  upon  that  word — must  change  into  dry  clothes 
and  eat  something  warm  and  comforting.  She  glanced 
anxiously  at  her  husband,  then  at  R6gis,  and  felt,  with  her 
marvelous  instinct,  that  there  was  some  new  and  startling 
development;  but  this  wise  woman  asked  no  questions, 
and  was  satisfied  to  busy  herself  with  what  she  specified 
as  "first  aid  to  the  deserving."  They  needed  it  by  this 
time,  of  that  there  could  be  no  doubt,  and  it  was  only 
when  completely  revived  and  limbered  up  by  hot  bath  and 
cold  shower,  and  steaming  coffee  with  a  gracious  accom- 
paniment of  more  substantial  viands,  followed  by  a  re- 
freshing smoke,  that  they  felt  quite  equal  to  assembling 
the  necessarily  narrow  conseil-de-Jamille  that  should 
decide  upon  immediate  steps.  Naturally  Marguerite  was 
excluded,  for  the  questions  under  discussion  were  not  of 
the  sort  one  can  bring  to  maidenly  ears,  but  the  Abbe*  de 
Kerdren  was  called  in,  and  those  four  —  Tatiana,  Jean, 
Re*gis,  and  the  sailor-priest — sat  down  before  a  glorious 
driftwood-fire  in  the  library  to  attain  some  conclusion. 

Basil  was  coming  back  as  fast  as  steam  could  bring  him, 

260 


MOONGLADE 

his  brain  afire  with  wrath  and  humiliation,  determined 
beyond  a  doubt  to  punish  the  guilty  betrayed  to  him  by 
his  faithful  and  indiscreet  agent.  The  guilty?  Tatiana 
thought  of  the  still,  white  form  in  the  chapel — that 
sculptured  beauty  on  the  silver  brocades  of  her  fast 
couch,  between  the  tall  [candlesticks  burning  their  pale- 
yellow  flames  amid  sheaves  of  snowy  flowers.  The 
abbe,  Re"gis,  and  Jean  remembered  the  quietly  delirious 
man  in  his  strange  sick-room  at  the  foot  of  the  cliffs, 
awaiting  unknowingly  the  verdict  of  the  great  physicians 
telegraphed  for  to  Paris — and  there  was  a  silence  preg- 
nant with  pain  and  wretchedness.  Ah,  surely  the  pun- 
ishment had  already  been  dealt  by  stronger  hands  than 
Basil's! 

Up-stairs  little  Piotr,  ignorant  of  what  new  complica- 
tions Fate  was  weaving  around  his  baby  existence,  was 
playing  now  with  Garrassime — Garrassime  moving  as  in 
a  dream,  his  honest  heart  well-nigh  broken  by  so  many 
repeated  blows. 

Salvieres  explained  that  during  the  second  interview 
he  had  just  had  with  the  Wild  Rose's  first  mate  in  the 
Castle  infirmary,  he  had  discovered  that  after  a  cruise  in 
the  Mediterranean,  among  the  Ionian  Islands,  and  back 
to  Gibraltar,  Princess  Laurence  had  crossed  the  straits  to 
Tangier,  where  she  had  hired  a  Moorish  house  inclosed 
by  an  impenetrable  rampart  of  cactus,  and  set  upon  the 
flank  of  a  fortress-like  hillock  beyond  the  Sok,  and  outside 
the  city  gates,  beyond  the  spot  where  the  East  and  the 
West  rub  shoulders.  The  Wild  Rose  lay  at  anchor  on  the 
still  bosom  of  the  bay,  at  the  least  conspicuous  moorings 
that  could  be  found — this  by  the  special  command  of  the 
Princess.  Every  evening  Captain  Braines  or  the  first 
mate  went  up  to  the  house  for  orders,  more  often  than 
once  walking  out  of  town  by  the  Mazan  and  the  dusky 
lanes  shadowed  by  sweeping  cedars  and  hedged  by  prick- 
ly-pear. The  mate  had  a  natural  picturesqueness  of 

261 


MOONGLADE 

expression  which  Salvidres  faithfully  reproduced  as  he 
retold  the  tale.  To  hear  him  it  was  difficult  to  realize 
that  Laurence's  hiding-place  was  but  a  few  short  miles 
away  from  Europe  as  the  swallow  flies  across  that  sunlit 
strait.  The  house,  it  seemed,  had  been  luxurious.  The 
Princess,  served  by  her  own  confidential  servants  brought 
with  her  on  the  yacht,  had  never  left  its  seclusion,  but 
spent  her  time  in  the  queer,  fragrant  old  garden,  with  its 
ever-splashing  fountains  and  irregular  bosquets  of  palms 
and  flowering  trees,  where  roses  and  camellias  made  a  blaze 
of  color  in  the  day,  and  the  big  Oriental  moon  cast  its  tri- 
umphant glamour  at  night.  There  she  had  lain  in  a  ham- 
mock, apparently  wasting  her  beauty  upon  the  almost 
awesome  solitude  of  the  place,  until  one  evening  when 
the  captain,  walking  up  the  path  of  crushed  shells  be- 
tween the  high  thickets,  had  seen  a  man  rise  hastily  and 
disappear  behind  a  clump  of  ilexes.  The  bluff  English- 
man had  told  the  mate  of  this  incident  on  coming  aboard, 
in  shocked  and  very  strong  language,  but,  contrary  to 
expectation,  the  days  had  passed  without  further  develop- 
ments. Two  weeks  later,  however,  the  Princess  had  bid- 
den the  captain  be  ready  to  take  to  sea  again,  and  twenty- 
four  hours  afterward  the  Wild  Rose  had  steamed  out  of 
Tangier,  bound  for  the  Azores,  carrying,  besides  its  former 
contingent,  a  very  good-looking  young  man,  who  was,  so  it 
was  said,  her  Serene-Highness's  newly  engaged  secretary, 
an  Englishman;  by  name  Preston  Harrington. 

Throughout  the  trip  the  Princess,  who  had  evidently 
taken  a  sudden  turn  toward  literature,  had  been  closeted 
in  her  own  suite  with  "Mr.  Harrington"  for  many  hours  a 
day,  dictating,  doubtless,  the  novel  to  which  she  freely 
referred  when  talking  to  the  captain,  whom  she  daily 
honored  with  a  visit  on  the  bridge.  It  was  to  be — she 
claimed — the  work  of  her  life,  a  great-lady  way  of  avoid- 
ing ennui  in  this  weary,  weary  existence  of  plenitude. 

It  had  leaked  out,  however,  as  such  things  are  over- 

262 


MOONGLADE 

apt  to  do,  that  the  Azores  were  but  a  pretext,  a  port  of 
call  on  the  way  to  the  States;  that  "Mr.  Harrington"  was 
in  reality  an  American,  and  that  his  post  of  secretary  had 
not  been  adopted  for  the  sake  of  obtaining  a  remunerative 
position,  since  his  pockets  were  royally  filled,  as  was  testi- 
fied by  the  munificence  of  his  tips  to  every  man-jack  of 
the  crew  and  engine-room.  He  had  made  himself  well 
liked,  too,  and  had  gained  the  brevet  title  of  a  "real 
gentleman"  among  them.  Also  he  was  a  splendid  sailor, 
visibly  used  to  a  pleasing  existence  on  a  yacht  of  extreme 
luxuriousness. 

Once  or  twice  the  mate  himself  had  heard  voices  raised 
to  the  pitch  of  anger  in  the  saloon,  when  keeping  his  mid- 
night watch  on  deck,  and  had  greatly  wondered,  but  re- 
ported nothing  of  what  he  had  discovered.  Once,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  he  had  unwillingly  caught  a  sentence  of 
the  Princess:  "I  will  not  go  with  you  to  America!  We 
must  find  some  other  place!"  And  the  answer  in  "Har- 
rington's" lower  tones:  "I  don't  care  where  we  go.  You 
must  decide.  You  know  very  well  that  now  I  am  utterly 
in  your  hands." 

A  short  sojourn  at  the  Azores,  spent  mostly  on  the 
yacht,  and  then  orders  to  steam  back  again  to  Europe. 
Celeste,  her  Highness's  French  maid,  had  chatted  about 
Norway  to  one  of  the  quartermasters  who  was  a  Nor- 
wegian, and  had  let  fall  that  her  mistress,  already  sickened 
of  sub-tropical  landscapes,  would  spend  the  end  of  the 
summer  in  the  Fjords.  There  was  no  longer  peace  on 
board,  however.  Laurence  scowled  savagely  during  meal- 
times, as  was  asserted  by  the  head  steward  and  his  under- 
strappers. "Mr.  Harrington"  looked  grim  and  worried 
by  turns,  and  the  admirably  trained,  carefully  selected 
crew  gossiped  between  themselves,  just  as  if  they  had 
been  the  most  ordinary  passenger-steamer  lot;  only  their 
faces  remained  aristocratically  wooden,  and  their  tongues 
reduced  to  pianissimo  expressions. 

263 


MOONGLADE 

On  nearing  Europe  the  Wild  Rose  had  encountered  dirty 
weather  of  the  midsummer  kind,  the  most  trying  for  sea- 
farers to  bear,  and  the  Princess  had  signified  to  her  cap- 
tain that  her  next  point  of  destination  would  be  Trond- 
hjem.  Then  suddenly  he  had  been  summoned  to  her 
"study"  and  had  received  orders  not  to  go  by  way  of  the 
English  Channel. 

Greatly  surprised,  Captain  Braines  had  respectfully 
pointed  out  to  her  that  any  other  route  would  be  a  round- 
about one, if  Norway  was  really  her  Highness's  destination; 
but  evidently  apprehensive  of  meeting  other  yachts  in 
those  much-traveled  waters,  she  had  objected  with  her 
usual  stubbornness,  and  only  by  protesting  the  lateness 
of  the  season  had  the  captain  finally  succeeded  in  gain- 
ing his  point.  Beaten  by  contrary  winds,  the  Wild  Rose 
had  entered  the  Channel,  and  had  attempted  to  seek 
shelter  from  the  final  tempest  in  some  French  port.  Fog- 
banks  of  impenetrable  thickness  and  terrible  cross-seas 
had  been  her  portion,  and  then — the  end!  The  first  mate 
confessed  that  the  unreasonableness  of  the  Princess,  her 
incomprehensible  behavior  in  the  teeth  of  imminent  peril, 
had  unmanned  the  crew  and  shaken  even  the  captain 
himself,  though  "Mr.  Harrington's"  cool  courage  and  re- 
sourcefulness in  a  desperate  situation  might  have  still 
saved  her  had  she  but  listened  to  him.  The  rest  of  the 
recital  was  mere  maritime  detail — a  welter  of  raging 
waters,  the  gnashing  teeth  of  breakers — and  of  no  present 
interest,  so  Saliveres  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  took 
the  cigarette  his  wife  silently  handed  to  him. 

And  what  could  they  all  do  now?  That  was  the 
grievous  point.  What  would  be  the  dictum  of  the 
"Princes  of  Science"  summoned  to  Salvieres?  How  con- 
ceal the  true  identity  of  Preston  Wynne,  granted  that 
the  Ducal  doctor  was  correct  in  his  fears  of  permanent 
disablement?  There  was  Basil,  too,  to  reckon  with. 
Perhaps  he  would  hear  or  read  of  the  disaster  to  the  Wild 

264 


MOONGLADE 

Rose  before  reaching  France,  whither  he  was  journeying, 
knowing  that  the  de  Salvieres  were  in  Normandy.  They 
looked  sadly  at  one  another,  these  people  who  a  few  short 
months  before  had  all  been  so  happy. 

The  afternoon  was  far  advanced,  and  the  weather  had 
sensibly  moderated,  when  the  carriage  departed  to  fetch 
the  medical  men  from  the  nearest  railway  station.  They 
were  coming  on  a  special  train,  for  no  time  was  to  be  lost 
in  mercy  to  Preston,  who,  still  wandering  in  his  mind, 
was  in  charge  of  two  nursing  sisters  on  the  narrow  truckle- 
bed  that  the  life-savers  used,  turn  and  turn  about,  to 
snatch  a  wink  or  so  of  sleep  during  their  nights  on  duty. 

Marguerite  had  devoted  herself  to  the  amusement  of 
Piotr;  a  difficult  Piotr  to-day,  rendered  peevish  by  his 
disturbed  night's  rest,  impossible  to  please,  restive  as  the 
unbroken  colt  he  was.  At  last  she  came  down,  very  pale 
in  her  white  dinner-dress,  and  a  trifle  ghostly  as  she 
glided  along  the  inner  gallery  to  the  glassed-in  terrace 
where  all  were  waiting.  "Moonglade?"  yes,  but  a  very 
faint  presentment  of  her  usual  "crystal  and  silver"  self, 
to  quote  Tatiana.  Her  father,  who  had  been  pacing  rest- 
lessly up  and  down  between  the  two  arched,  creeper- 
garlanded  entrances  of  this  sublimized  conservatory,  went 
forward  and  threw  his  arm  about  her  shoulders.  He  said 
nothing,  but  suddenly  bent  his  tall  form  and  kissed  her 
above  the  eyebrow,  his  eyes  full  of  pity  as  he  noticed  the 
small  hands,  gloved  to  the  elbow,  so  as  to  hide  the  thin 
bandages  beneath.  She  had  been  cruelly  torn  by  that 
rusty  cable  in  sliding  down  the  cliff,  and  he  was  far  from 
reassured. 

Everybody  spoke  to  her  that  night,  and  for  days  to 
follow,  in  a  tender,  careful  manner,  as  though  afraid  to 
touch  upon  too  sensitive  a  point,  of  hurting  her  in  some 
way;  and  it  was  in  an  almost  hesitating  tone  that  Tatiana 
asked  her  just  then  whether  she  felt  able  to  take  her  place 
for  an  hour  or  so,  later  on,  while  she  herself  went  down 
18  265 


MOONGLADE 

with  the  doctors,  Jean,  the  abbe",  and  Re*gis,  to  be  present 
at  their  examination  of  the  wounded  man. 

"Why,  of  course, 'Aunt*  Tatiana!"  she  replied,  smiling 
nearly  as  usual.  "I'll  be  only  too  glad  to  be  of  use." 

Tatiana  glanced  curiously  at  her.  "  Of  use?  What  was 
the  ' Gamin'  ever  else  but  useful  to  all  those  she  loved,  and 
to  many  others  besides?" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

Sweet  Ligia  sang,  and  as  I  passed 
I  was  not  fettered  to  the  mast. 

BY  the  blinding  light  of  two  hurricane-lamps  the  emi- 
nent surgeons  were  bending  over  their  patient.  Deftly, 
gently,  rapidly  they  turned  and  touched  him  here  and 
there,  their  inscrutable,  clean-shaven,  clever  faces  close  to- 
gether, directing  by  an  occasional  short  word  the  Sal- 
vieres  doctor,  who  was  proudly  serving  as  assistant'  to 
these  great  men.  Beyond  the  brilliant  circle  of  light  stood 
Tatiana,  turning  her  wedding-ring  round  and  round  her 
finger,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  it  as  if  her  life  depended  upon 
the  exactness  of  its  fit.  Jean,  Regis,  and  the  abbe"  had 
retreated  to  the  recess,  where  the  round  windows  shone 
back  at  them  like  mirrors.  The  setting  down  of  a  stetho- 
scope or  of  a  measuring-tape  in  its  little  metal  wheel  upon 
the  deal  table  near  the  bed,  made  the  nerves  of  every  per- 
son present  thrill.  The  minutes  dragged  like  weary  hours, 
and  the  silky  sound  of  the  rain  falling  from  the  slate  roof 
to  the  paving  of  the  narrow-walled  inclosure  about  the 
station  was  distinctly  exasperating. 

"Can  he  hear — understand?"  Tatiana  whispered  to  her 
private  physician  as  he  crossed  before  her  to  get  something 
from  a  side-shelf. 

"No,  Madame  la  Duchesse,"  answered  one  of  the  Paris 
miracle-workers  who  had  heard,  stepping  to  her  side. 
"  That  will  pass,  however;  it  is  merely  the  effect  of  shock." 

"And,"  she  ventured,  with  great  pleading  eyes  raised 

267 


MOONGLADE 

to  his  cold,  clear  ones,  "will  the — the  injury  be  hard  to 
heal?" 

The  man  of  science  did  not  reply  at  once.  He  was 
of  the  opinion  that  unpleasant  news  is  worse  than  useless 
to  communicate  to  the  great  of  this  world;  a  delicate  coat 
of  fine  gold  should,  according  to  him,  always  mask  the 
bitterness  of  the  pill;  but  the  hardening  of  her  gaze  made 
him  attend,  and  quickly. 

"Pas  de  betises,  docteur,"  she  said,  harshly.  "I  want 
the  truth.  We  are  responsible,  my  husband  and  I,  so 
pray  don't  shilly-shally;  speak  out." 

"Believe  me,  Madame  la  Duchesse,  nothing  is  further 
from  my  mind  than  to  lead  you  astray."  There  was  a 
fine  curl  of  deprecation  on  his  thin  upper  lip.  "But  be- 
fore my  learned  colleague  and  I  have  been  enabled  to  take 
counsel  together  a  decision  on  my  part  would  be — er — 
premature — even  discourteous,  I  may  add." 

Tatiana's  slim  foot  tapped  the  granite  floor  impatient- 
ly. "How  long  will  it  take  you  to  come  to  a — courteous 
understanding?"  she  demanded,  taking  a  lightning-like 
distaste  for  this  frigid  person  who  was  attempting  to 
overawe  her  at  ten  thousand  francs  an  hour. 

Fortunately  the  eminent  confrere,  more  tactful,  and  a 
man  of  the  world,  had  listened  with  one  ear,  and  now 
joined  them. 

"I  think,  Madame  la  Duchesse,"  he  said,  urbanely, 
"that  a  secret  consultation  is  scarcely  needed."  The 
throwing  of  dust  in  his  client's  eyes,  be  they  ever  so 
erhdben — as  the  Germans  call  it — was  not  his  habit.  He 
posed,  on  the  contrary,  for  a  docteur  iant-mieux — an  op- 
timist of  the  finest  orient,  scorning  the  school  of  the  tant- 
pis  medical  man;  and  his  critical  mind  could  not  but  ac- 
knowledge that  his  colleague  was  exhibiting  the  bedside 
manner  of  a  half-frozen  frog,  so,  throwing  a  considerable 
amount  of  warmth  into  a  tone  already  sympathetic,  he 
resumed: 

268 


MOONGLADE 

"  I  understand,  Madame  la  Duchesse,  that  this  gentle- 
man is  not  related  either  to  yourself  or  to  Monsieur  le 
Due?" 

"No,"  she  snapped. 

"It  makes  our  task  easier,  of  course,  in  telling  you 
that  violent  contact  with  a  hard  substance  has  caused 
a  deep-seated  injury — to  the  lumbar  vertebrae;  in  fact, 
I  need  not  explain  that  this  is  extremely  serious." 

"Is  there  any  hope  of  recovery?"  she  asked,  feeling 
herself  get  dry-lipped  at  the  horror  of  this  condemnation. 

"None  at  all!"  the  cheerful  doctor  asserted. 

And  just  then  from  the  bed  came  the  poor,  brainless 
voice. 

'I  tell  you,  Loris — jump.  .  .  .  Don't  be  afraid — you 
wanted  this,  you  know. ...  I'd  always  hoped  it  might  one 
day  be  said  of  me  that  I'd  lived  clean.  I  wasn't  strait- 
laced  as  if  I'd  swallowed  the  Statue  of  Liberty  up  to  her 
manly  bosom.  But  it's  too  late  now — there's  no  time. . . . 
Jump,  Laurence — jump!  I  can  tuck  you  under  my  arm. 
.  .  .  Are  you  still  afraid?  .  .  .  Don't  you  believe  in  a  free 
United  States—" 

The  hearers  listened  in  silence.  This  blague  and  bagout 
so  essentially  Parisian  were  his,  doubtless,  by  some  curious 
trick  of  ancestry,  but  it  was  rather  gruesome  just  then. 

"Won't  they  laugh  at  home.  .  . !"  The  sickening  drone 
went  on.  "I!  caught  in  a  double  cross  like  this  .  .  .  good 
for  crabs  and  evil  tongues.  .  .  .  Great  Scott !  isn't  that  a 
treat !"  He  laughed  a  ghastly  ringing  laugh  that  suddenly 
choked  in  his  throat,  and  gave  a  grimace  of  pain  that 
brought  the  doctors  back  to  his  side. 

"I  thought  he  could  not  feel — anything?"  Tatiana 
murmured,  profoundly  shocked.  "If  one  must  see  him 
suffer  too — " 

"Reassure  yourself,  Madame  la  Duchesse.  He  does 
not  really  feel — as  yet,  and  this  wandering  of  the  mind 
is  quite  natural.  It  is  when  he  comes  to  himself  that 

269 


your  kindly  task  will  be — er — difficult."  It  was  Docteur 
Tant-Mieux  who  spoke,  rubbing  the  tips  of  his  long  surgi- 
cal fingers  together,  as  if  washing  his  hands  of  all  doubt  on 
the  subject. 

"Is  there,"  Salvieres  said,  coming  forward,  "any  danger 
in  moving  him  to  more  comfortable  quarters?" 

The  two  confreres  glanced  swiftly  at  each  other.  "  Do 
you,"  inquired  the  optimist,  "see  any  risk,  Docteur  de 
Partenay,  in  the  patient's  being  carried  to  the  chateau, 
as  Monsieur  le  Due  so  thoughtfully  suggests?" 

"  Hummmm-m,"  the  pessimist  hesitated.  "  Not  a  very 
great  deal,  provided  the  transportation  is  done  on  a  water- 
mattress  and  by  very  careful  bearers;  but  no  doubt  the 
infirmary  of  the  Castle — about  which  I  have  heard  so 
much" — here  he  bowed  first  to  the  Duke  and  then  to  the 
Duchess — "can  be  called  upon  for  all  appliances  neces- 
sary." 

"And,"  resumed  Salvieres,  "will  it  be  impossible,  say 
in  a  few  days,  to  put  the — patient  on  a  yacht  and  take  him 
back  to  his  own  land?  He — he — is  an  American." 

"In  this  season,  Monsieur  le  Due,  la  belle  saison,"  the 
great  man  addressed  responded,  visibly  undeterred  by  a 
newly  awakened  squall  that  was  shrieking  its  way  around 
and  around  the  "  Station,"  "I  should  say  not;  but  with 
your  permission  my  colleague  and  I  will  answer  your 
question  after  a  second  examination  of  the  patient,  when 
he  has  been  removed  from  here.  You  have  no  doubt 
considered  the  necessity  of  our  spending  the  night  at 
Salvieres." 

"Certainly,"  Tatiana  and  Jean  exclaimed  together. 
"Jean,"  she  went  on,  "will  you  be  so  good  as  to  give 
orders  to  have  '  Mr.  Harrington '  moved  to  the  Louis 
XL  suite  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  west  wing.  The 
ground  floor  will  be  advisable,  messieurs,  is  it  not  so?  Be- 
sides, it  is  in  the  newer  portion  of  the  house  and  very 
comfortably  installed,"  and  she  turned  to  the  doctors. 

270 


MOONGLADE 

To  this  they  agreed,  much  impressed,  in  spite  of  their 
professional  phlegm,  by  the  simplicity  with  which  this 
Duchess  referred  to  a  wing  dating  back  five  hundred  years 
as  the  "newer  portion"  of  her  Castle. 

Two  hours  later  the  transit  had  been  accomplished 
and  Preston  Wynne  was  resting  in  the  high -ceiled 
room  where  once  the  King  of  "many  watches"  had 
slept.  The  doctors'  opinion  before  their  departure 
the  next  morning — by  means  of  another  special  train, 
their  valuable  presence  being  peremptorily  required  in 
Paris — was  to  the  effect  that  "  Mr.  Harrington  "  would  in 
all  human  probability  recover  consciousness  within  the 
next  few  hours.  They  would,  as  promised,  despatch  a 
medical  student  de  troisieme  annee  to  Salvieres,  as  also 
an  orderly,  to  take  full  charge  of  the  patient  and  accom- 
pany him  to  America,  were  the  voyage  decided  upon. 
Money,  they  were  told,  was  no  object,  and  so  they  might 
well  believe  when  thinking  of  the  plethoric  cheques  folded 
in  their  respective  pocket-books!  Hope  of  complete  or 
even  partial  recovery,  they  repeated,  there  was  none — 
none  whatsoever — and  it  was  with  a  heavy  heart  that 
Tatiana,  after  seeing  them  off,  turned  her  steps  to  the 
sick-room. 

Her  feelings  were  hardly  to  be  analyzed  as  she  came 
to  the  bedside  and  looked  long  and  intently  at  the  boyish 
face  on  the  low,  hard  pillow  scarcely  elevating  it  from  the 
smoothly  drawn  sheet.  With  his  eyes  closed,  his  hair 
swept  back  from  the  forehead,  very  white,  and  breathing 
very  softly,  Preston  Wynne  seemed  to  have  recovered 
some  of  childhood's  lines.  He  was  barely  twenty-six,  but 
just  then  he  gave  the  impression  of  sixteen  rather,  and 
Tatiana  sighed.  "What  a  pity,"  she  murmured;  and 
quite  in  spite  of  herself,  for  she  was  a  singularly  mer- 
ciful and  forgiving  woman,  she  felt  a  sudden  wave  of 
disgust  sweep  over  her  as  she  thought  of  Laurence 
lying  in  princely  state  in  the  old  chapel,  and  of  this 

271 


MOONGLADE 

her  fifth  and  last  victim.  Basil,  Piotr,  Marguerite, 
Neville,  and  now  this  poor  young  stranger  who  had, 
according  to  his  own  broken  and  wandering  words,  tried 
to  resist  her  fascination.  Had  any  one  ever  heard  of 
such  inconceivable  ill-fortune,  of  such  persistent  mis- 
chance, as  had  befallen  those  who  had  loved  her?  Well, 
she  had  paid  the  price;  not  only  of  her  peculiar  reading 
of  the  plighted  faith,  but  of  that  fault,  perhaps  far  more 
heinous  yet — a  total  lack  of  heart,  of  gratitude,  and  of 
motherhood.  Still  Tatiana  could  not  bring  it  upon  her- 
self to  say  the  "repose  in  peace"  which  comes  so  readily 
to  Russian  lips  whenever  they  think  of  those  that  are  no 
more,  and,  slipping  into  an  arm-chair  at  the  foot  of  Pres- 
ton's bed,  she  sat,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  quiet  figure 
before  her.  A  bunch  of  sun-rays,  clean-washed  by  the 
storm,  was  thrusting  its  golden  points  through  the  lace 
of  the  undercurtains,  and  after  a  while  Tatiana  turned 
her  eyes  toward  them,  though  her  thoughts  were  far  away. 
She  did  not  notice  the  passing  of  the  hours,  and  the  light 
was  beginning  to  veil  itself  when  she  suddenly  became 
aware  that  Preston  was  awake  and  looking  straight  at 
her,  perfectly  calm  and  reasonable. 

With  a  nervous  start  she  rose  and  came  closer  to  him. 
"How  are  you  now?"  she  asked  in  as  matter-of-fact  a 
tone  as  she  could  summon  to  her  assistance. 

"I  am  all  right,  I  believe,  except  that  I  feel  lame  all 
over,"  he  replied,  smiling  in  that  peculiarly  winning  fash- 
ion she  had  always  liked.  "We  were  wrecked — "  he  con- 
tinued, puckering  his  brows  in  puzzlement.  "When  you 
moved,  madame,  I  was  just  trying  to  piece  the  last  few 
hours  together." 

"Yes,"  she  encouraged,  "but  don't  do  it  too  fast.  You 
have  gone  through  a  great  deal,  Mr.  Wynne,  and  rest  is 
what  you  need  most.  Are  you  thirsty?" 

"  I  am,  thank  you,"  he  said,  still  quite  evenly;  and  as  she 
took  from  the  table  a  long  glass  with  something  cool  in 

272 


MOONGLADE 

it,  he  made  a  motion  to  raise  himself  on  his  elbow,  de- 
sisted, and  glanced  inquiringly  at  her. 

"Are  my  legs  broken?"  he  queried. 

She  deftly  passed  her  left  arm  under  his  head  and  put 
the  glass  to  his  lips. 

"No,"  she  said,  her  face  hidden  from  him  as  she  bent, 
"you  broke  no  bones,  marvelous  to  relate." 

"That  was  lucky!"  he  admitted,  but  now  there  was  not 
only  surprise,  but  an  odd  wistfulness  in  his  voice.  "Still, 
I  cannot  move  my  legs  at  all.  It's  curious!" 

"Not  in  the  least;  you  were  properly  battered  by  the 
waves,  my  poor  child,  let  me  tell  you." 

"I  dare  say.  I  remember  something  about  that.  But 
tell  me,  Madame  de  Salvieres,  how  do  I  come  here  under 
your  roof?"  He  hesitated,  bit  his  under  lip,  and  fell  si- 
lent, battling  bravely  with  his  hazy  thoughts. 

Tatiana,  who  wished  herself  a  million  miles  away,  re- 
placed the  half-empty  glass  upon  the  tray,  and,  stepping 
across  to  the  nearest  window,  busied  herself  with  a  blind 
apparently  recalcitrant — a  strange  happening  in  a  dwell- 
ing where  everything  went  always  as  neatly  as  clock- 
work. 

Behind  the  stiff  brocaded  curtains  falling  straight  on 
each  side  of  his  couch  Preston  was  vainly  trying  to  pull 
himself  together.  How  was  he  here?  What  had  become 
of  Laurence  after  she  had  been  torn  from  his  arms  in  that 
hell  of  waters?  Why  was  it  the  Duchess  de  Salvieres — 
Prince  Palitzin's  sister — who  nursed  him,  and,  in  the  name 
of  all  wonders,  why  were  her  eyes  so  kind  and  sympathetic  ? 
Assuredly  he  deserved  no  such  treatment  from  her. 

"Madame  de  Salvieres,"  he  said  at  length,  "would  you 
very  much  mind  coming  here,  since  I  cannot  stir  vet,  and 
telling  me  something?" 

Instantly  Tatiana  was  at  his  side,  her  hand  lightly 
touching  his. 

"I  feel  awfully  foolish,"  he  explained,  "as  foolish  as  a 

273 


MOONGLADE 

man  well  can  feel — and,  to  be  truthful,  I  don't  know  where 
to  begin,  but  I'd  like  to  know  what — what  has  hap- 
pened to — to  me,  for  instance?" 

His  fine  eyes  were  searching  hers  imploringly,  and, 
drawing  a  chair  toward  her  with  her  foot,  she  sat  down 
close  to  him  without  releasing  her  hold  upon  his  cold 
fingers. 

"You  were  a  passenger  on  the  Wild  Rose,"  she  began. 
"You  remember  that?" 

"Yes." 

"The  yacht  was  caught  in  a  storm  and  foundered  a  few 
cable-lengths  from  our  rocks." 

"Yes,  I  remember  that,  too;  and  then  .  .  ." 

"Oh!  then,"  Tatiana  resumed,  "our  life-savers  did 
their  duty,  as  they  always  do,  and  brought  you  ashore." 

"But,"  Preston  rebegan,  fine  beads  of  perspiration 
starting  on  his  forehead,  "I — I  was  not  alone." 

"Of  course  not.  There  were  the  captain,  the  officers, 
the  crew,  and  my  sister-in-law,  your  hostess." 

"Yes,  certainly." 

"And  now  that  you  know  all  that  is  necessary  for  you 
to  know  at  present,  it  will  be  best  for  you  to  go  to  sleep 
again,  my  dear  Mr.  Wynne.  Later,  when  you  are  quite 
recovered,  we  will,  if  you  wish  it,  discuss  further." 

She  was  surprised  at  the  indifference  of  her  tone.  She 
might  have  been  holding  forth  on  the  details  of  some  ap- 
proaching festivity,  so  natural  did  it  sound. 

"But,"  objected  Preston,  "I  am  not  a  bit  sleepy, 
Madame  de  Salvieres,  and  if  it  is  not  asking  too  much  of 
you,  would  you — would  you  tell  me — more?" 

"What  more  can  I  tell  you?"  she  said,  trying  desperate- 
ly to  keep  on  playing  her  impossible  r61e.  "Wrecks  are 
wrecks,  disagreeable  moments  to  be  gone  through,  of 
course,  with  casualties  sometimes,  and  unpleasantness  in 
any  case.  Some  of  the  crew  were  drowned  last  night,  as 
you  may  easily  imagine,  and  we  heard  from  the  first  mate 

274 


MOONGLADE 

that  you  conducted  yourself  with  extreme  bravery,  so  all 
is  for  the  best  in  this  best  of  worlds." 

"Drowned!"  he  exclaimed.  "Drowned!  It  is  not  a 
very  nice  way  to  make  one's  exit.  They  were  good 
fellows,  those  sailors  of  the  Wild  Rose.  I  am  sorry. 
The  captain?"  he  inquired,  with  a  swift  widening  ~ of 
the  eyes.  "Braines,  I  mean — Captain  Braines — was  he 
saved?" 

"I  am  afraid  not — at  least  he  has  not  reappeared;  but, 
really,  you  must  listen  to  me  now,  and  postpone  the  rest 
of  the  inquiry,  Mr.  Wynne.  I  cannot  allow  you  to  agitate 
yourself  after  the  knocking  about  you  had.  I  cannot, 
really!" 

There  was  a  hurried  note  in  her  words,  a  haste  to  finish 
that  his  swiftly  awakening  faculties  did  not  miss;  also  he 
noticed,  with  that  keenness  of  perception  which  sometimes 
follows  a  profound  nervous  shock,  that  the  great  gems 
on  her  fingers  sparkled  oddly,  a  quivering  sparkle  that 
denoted  a  tremor  of  hands  held  still  by  sheer  will-power, 
and  in  a  second  his  mind  was  made  up. 

"Madame  de  Salvieres,"  he  said,  resolutely,  "you  are 
awfully  kind  to  spare  me,  but  I  feel  that  there  are  things 
I  ought  to  know — that,  to  express  myself  more  clearly,  I 
deserve  to  know.  Give  me  a  little  more  of  that  cordial 
and  tell  me  all,  please!  I  am  not  a  child;  I  feel  perfectly 
normal,  I  give  you  my  honor,  save  for  that  queer  numbness 
I  told  you  of,  and  I  ask  you  to  be  truly  merciful  and  not 
to  keep  me  in  suspense." 

Without  a  word  Tatiana  rose,  reached  for  the  restora- 
tive, and  when  this  had  been  obediently  swallowed  to  the 
last  drop  made  him  take  a  cup  of  cold,  strong  bouillon; 
then  she  sat  down  again. 

"It  would  be  absurd,"  she  said,  firmly,  "to  pretend  not 
to  understand  you,  Mr.  Wynne.  I  would  have  preferred 
to  wait  a  little  longer  before  causing  you  more — "  She 
stopped  to  choose  an  adequate  word,  and,  finding  none, 

275 


MOONGLADE 

hastily  put  in  "pain."  "To  cause  you  more  pain  than 
can  be  helped;  but  if  you  persist  in  wanting  the  truth, 
there  is  nothing  left  for  me  to  do  but  to  tell  it  to  you 
brutally." 

He  did  not  stir  even  an  eyelash;  he  was  gazing  at  her 
in  the  glow  of  the  setting  sun,  which  left  him  in  shadow 
and  bathed  her  in  a  sort  of  glory  which  did  not  even 
make  her  wink,  and  he  thought:  "What  a  merciful  and 
masterful  face!  This  is  indeed  a  woman  to  rely  upon  in 
time  of  need." 

"Your  affection  for  Laurence  Palitzin — pardon  me, 
but  I  cannot  avoid  alluding  to  that  now — is  very  pro- 
found, I  suppose.  Of  course  you  are  a  gentleman,  and 
I  am  perfectly  aware  that  you  cannot  speak  of  this  feeling 
to  any  one,  but  you  must  yield  one  point  and  answer  me 
this:  Will  it  break  your  heart  if  the  incident  of  last  night 
and  its  —  consequences  oblige  you  to  —  part  from  her? 
Never  to  see  her  again,  for  instance?" 

"You  mean,"  Preston  said,  a  slow  flush  rising  to  the 
roots  of  his  hair,  "will  it  cause  me  an  insufferable  sacrifice 
to  give  up — having  brought  this  upon  myself  by  my  un- 
forgivable imprudence  and  indiscretion — the  friendship 
which  Madame  Palitzin  was  so  kind  as  to  honor  me 
with?" 

Tatiana,  wondering  at  his  delicacy  and  pluck,  nodded. 
"Yes,"  she  admitted,  "that  is  precisely  what  I  mean." 

"Then  I  will  answer  in  the  negative,  with  all  the  frank- 
ness you  impose  upon  me,  madame.  The  affection  and 
respect  I  feel  for  Madame  Palitzin  command  me  before 
all  things  to  avoid — late  in  the  day,  alas! — compromising 
her  by  the  merest  hint  of  any  deeper  sentiment.  May  I 
assure  you  that  from  this  day  I  will  neither  seek  to  see 
her,  nor  to  communicate  with  her  by  spoken  or  written 
word?  I  have  been  guilty  of  unpardonable  Ugbretb  in  ac- 
cepting her  invitation  to  cruise  with  her  on  the  Wild  Rose, 
but  .  .  .  friendship  alone — "  He  had  become  a  little 

276 


MOONGLADE 

breathless,  and,  shaken  with  pity,  Tatiana  put  .her  fin- 
gers on  his  lips  in  an  impulsive,  irresistible  gesture,  and 
drew  them  as  swiftly  away  again. 

"Enough,"  she  said.  "You  are  a  very  fine  character, 
Mr.  Wynne,  permit  me  to  say  so."  She  had  grown  hor- 
ribly pale,  and  her  lips  were  twitching. 

"But  excuse  me,"  he  pleaded.  "One  word  more. 
Should  your  brother — Prince  Basil,  I  mean — consider  that 
his  wife's  actions  in  accepting  me  as  her  guest,  harmless 
as  were  her  intentions,  are — capable  of  misinterpretation 
by — by  the  public,  I  hold  myself  at  his  disposal,  you 
understand.  I  am  an  American,  and  doubtless  you  have 
often  heard,  madame,  that  we  do  not  look  kindly  upon 
dueling;  but  I  think  differently,  and  I'll  give  him  satis- 
faction if  he  judges  this  to  be  his  due." 

Tatiana  rose  brusquely  and  stepped  out  of  the  sun- 
path  piercing  the  room  from  end  to  end  like  a  glittering 
sword-blade.  To  hear  this  poor  cripple,  this  maimed  boy, 
speak  so  gravely  of  giving  Basil  satisfaction  was  more 
than  she  could  bear,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  the 
dauntless  Tatiana  felt  herself  within  measurable  distance 
of  hysterics. 

"My  brother,"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  spiritless  voice 
very  foreign  to  her,  "is — oh,  a  man  every  inch  of  him, 
not  a  brute,  thank  God! — and  he  will  see  as  I  do,  that 
punishment  more  than  adequate  has  been  meted  out. 
Let  us  say  nothing  further  of  all  this." 

She  turned  with  her  customary  quickness,  and  he  caught 
sight  of  her  ashy  face. 

"Madame — Madame  de  Salvi£res!"  he  cried.  "What  is 
it?  Has  worse  happened?  Is  she  hurt?  Is  she...?" 

His  lips  were  trembling  pitifully,  and  Tatiana  rushed 
forward,  threw  her  arms  about  him,  and  pressed  his 
face  against  her  breast  as  she  would  have  done  with 
Pavlo. 

"Hush!"  she  murmured  over  him.  "Hush!  God  knows 

277 


MOONGLADE 

what  He  does.    It  is  best  for  her  like  this — for  you — for 
all  of  us." 

Gently  she  knelt  down,  still  holding  him,  and  there  was 
silence  in  the  room.  Far  down  below  the  cliffs  the  whistle 
of  some  sea-birds  winging  their  way  home  cut  the  clear 
air  that  blew  softly  in  at  the  windows,  and  Preston,  who 
had  never  known  a  mother's  caress,  suddenly  burst  into 
a  passion  of  tears. 

"It  is  not  as  if  you  had  loved  her,"  she  murmured, 
"as  if  it  had  been  all  your  doing.  You  have  many 
excuses.  We  cannot  think  altogether  harshly  of  her 
—  now,  of  course,  but  relationship  does  not  exclude 
justice;  and  the  blame  is  not  all  upon  you,  be  assured 
of  that." 

He  drew  slightly  away  from  her  and  stared  at  her  in 
amazement. 

"How — how  do  you  know  it?"  he  stammered. 

"That  is  my  secret,  and  will  remain  so,"  she  consoled. 
"Suffice  it  that  I  do  know,  and — absolve  you." 

"I — I  wish  it  were  I,"  he  whispered. 

"Don't!"  she  implored,  drying  his  eyes  with  her  scrap 
of  a  handkerchief.  "Don't  say  things  like  that. . . .  You 
have  paid  enough  already." 

"Paid!"  he  scoffed  through  set  teeth.  "Paid,  with  a 
ducking  and  a  few  bruises?  You  call  that  paying?" 

She  was  silent.  What  should  she  do?  Tell  him  the 
whole  truth  while  she  was  about  it — give  him  the  whole 
terrific  dose  at  one  draught?  Would  this  be  wiser,  more 
merciful?  Would  one  desperate  shock  counteract  the 
other?  All  this  raced  across  her  mind  while  she  smoothed 
the  telltale  flatness  of  the  pillow,  the  uncrumpled  sheet 
with  its  embroidered  crest  and  crown.  She  was  for  ener- 
getic measures  by  nature,  by  conviction  based  upon  a  deep 
knowledge  of  life,  but  still  she  hesitated;  and,  quite  car- 
ried beyond  himself  by  her  silence,  he  made  a  violent  effort 
to  sit  up. 

278 


MOONGLADE 

Just  an  instant  too  late  she  pressed  him  down  with 
both  her  strong,  tender  hands  on  his  shoulders.  - 

"Oh!"  he  said,  faintly,  understanding  as  in  the  reveal- 
ing light  of  a  lightning  flash.  "Oh!  I  have  paid  back  a 
little,  then?  Tant  mieux!"  And  this  time  he  lay  quite 
still,  his  struggle  over. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

One  path  there  is,  one  only  door 
Of  refuge  from  the  blank  Before, 
And  urge  with  reasons  not  a  few 
Regret  and  Gratitude  thereto. 

THE  Castle  of  Salvieres,  with  its  gorgeous  "presence 
flag"  fluttering  in  the  salt  sea-breeze,  basked  in  the  brill- 
iant sun  of  a  hot  afternoon.  On  the  south  terrace  Piotr 
was  rushing  after  a  huge  pink-and-green  ball  that  Mar- 
guerite was  untiringly  throwing  for  him.  Below,  on  the 
to-day  unwrinkled  surface  of  the  little  harbor,  the  Sar- 
celle,  one  of  the  finest  steam-yachts  afloat,  was  being 
spruced  and  polished  and  scraped  and  rubbed — like  a 
steeple-chaser  before  a  race — for  her  straight  flight  across 
the  ocean.  Even  from  that  height  the  cheery  lilt  of  a 
bo's'n's  silver  pipe  could  be  distinctly  heard  as  it  blew 
its  shrill  commands,  and  the  almond-white  decks  shone 
bravely  after  their  last  holystoning. 

"Where's  she  going?"  Master  Piotr  asked,  running  up 
with  the  gaily  painted  globe  in  his  arms.  "Garrassime 
and  I  were  down  there  this  morning,  little  darling  Malou, 
and  the  steward  said  that  Uncle  Jean  had  ordered  her  to 
be  ready  by  to-morrow.  Is  she  going  to  England?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Marguerite  quite  truthfully  answered, 
for  ever  since  the  wreck  she  had  asked  no  questions, 
dreading  to  probe  into  a  situation  which  she  realized  was 
quite  beyond  her. 

"Ho,  ho!"  cried  Piotr,  spying  a  tall,  black-robed  figure 

280 


MOONGLADE 

emerging  from  the  Louis  XI.  wing  by  a  posten>door  all 
overrun  with  creepers.  "Where  have  you  been,  Uncle 
Pierre?  You're  always  fussing  on  that  side  of  the  quad- 
rangle. Have  you  a  surprise  hidden  there  for  me?" 

The  Abbe"  de  Kerdren  received  the  flushed,  laughing 
boy  full  against  his  long  legs  without  a  reproof;  then 
bending,  he  lifted  him  to  his  left  arm. 

"You  are  always  so  unexpected,  Piotr,"  he  remarked. 
"Your  rubber  ball  would  be  no  worse  as  far  as  bounce  is 
concerned,  but  decidedly  lighter." 

"You  haven't  answered  my  question,  Uncle  Pierre?" 
grumbled  Piotr,  snatching  at  the  abbe"'s  long  sash  as  if 
it  had  been  a  bell-rope.  "Answer  me,  please!" 

"Indeed,  Majesty!  Well,  as  you  have  condescended 
to  say  'please,'  I  will  confide  to  you  that  there  is  not  the 
least  bit  of  a  surprise  in  store  for  you,  neither  in  the 
Louis-Onze  wing  nor  anywhere  else." 

"  Tfou!"  came  from  Piotr  in  an  admirable  imitation  of 
the  mujik's  favorite  expression  of  disapproval.  "Tfou! 
I  don't  think  you're  telling  the  truth,  Uncle  Pierre, 
because  I  know  there's  going  to  be  a  surprise  pretty 
soon." 

"You're  not  very  polite,  my  Muscovite  friend.  And, 
by  the  way,  what  makes  you  think  that  there  will  be  a 
surprise,  after  all?  You  seem  pretty  sure  about  it!" 

Marguerite  had  drawn  near  and  had  swung  herself  to 
the  parapet  of  the  terrace,  from  which  she  dangled  her 
little  feet  half  a  yard  from  the  ground.  She  was  barely 
listening,  but  still  she  heard,  and  Piotr's  next  remark 
caused  her  to  suddenly  catch  hold  of  the  stonework  on 
both  sides  as  if  in  need  of  steadying  herself. 

"Papa  is  the  surprise,"  piped  the  boy,  glancing  tri- 
umphantly up  in  the  abbe's  face.  "He  is  coming  here — 
right  here — to  Salvieres  in  a  day  or  two." 

The  priest's  expectant  smile  was  wiped  out  as  with  a 
cloth,  and  it  was  in  a  tone  of  strangely  disproportionate 
19  281 


MOONGLADE 

reproof  that  he  replied,  "What  silly  yarn  is  this,  and  who 
told  you  such  a  fib,  to  begin  with?" 

Piotr,  greatly  offended,  drew  up  his  sturdy  little  body. 
"I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  in  his  peculiarly  precocious 
fashion,  "why  everybody  tells  me  I'm  a  liar.  Garrassime 
is  just  like  you;  he  said  that  I  wasn't  saying  the  truth." 

"Garrassime  is  a  man  of  great  sense,  then,  that's  all," 
the  abbe  said,  with  some  heat,  stealing  a  glance  in  the 
direction  of  Marguerite,  who,  bent  forward,  her  lips  a 
little  unclosed,  her  blue  eyes  wide,  was  as  motionless  as 
the  broad  balustrade  on  which  she  sat. 

"  If  your  father  were  coming  here,  assuredly  Garrassime 
would  know  about  it.  So  you  see  that  you  are  dreaming, 
or  have  been  misinformed,  my  dear  child,"  the  abbe*  re- 
sumed. 

"Mis-in-formed!"  sulked  Piotr.  "What  does  that 
mean?  Is  it  that  I've  been  lied  to?" 

"Dear  me,"  said  the  exasperated  Abbe*  de  Kerdren, 
"can't  you  remember,  Piotr,  that  the  words  'lie'  and  'liar' 
are  not  parliamentary — no,  I  don't  express  myself  right — 
not  polite  or  well-bred,  d'you  understand?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  that,  but  if  one's  got  to  be  polite 
now,  even  during  play-hours,  it's  beastly!" 

"Piotr!"   threatened  the  abbe. 

But  Piotr  was  not  listening,  and,  following  his  own 
idea,  burst  out,  "I  know  Papa  is  coming  and  so  does 
Aunt  Tatiana;  so  there!" 

"Is  it  Aunt  Tatiana  who  has  told  you  so?" 

"No,  Uncle  Pierre,  she  did  not  tell  it  to  me;  she  was 
talking  to  Uncle  Jean  after  he  kissed  her." 

"Where?" 

"Where?  Why,  behind  the  ear,  just  on  that  little  soft, 
white  place  one  has  above  the  neck." 

"But,  sapristi!  I  am  not  asking  you  where  your  uncle 
Jean  kissed  her.  I  ask  where  they  both  were  when  you 
heard  what  you  pretend  they  said." 

282 


MOONGLADE 

"That's  different,"  condescended  Piotr,  with  immense 
dignity.  "They  were  in  Aunt  Tatiana's  dressing-room. 
I  was  under  the  dressing-table  that's  got  petticoats  of 
gauze  and  an  underskirt  of  pink  satin.  They  say  it's 
a  Duchess  table,  so  I  think  that's  why  Aunt  Tatiana's 
got  one." 

"But  in  the  name  of  all  the  Saints  of  Paradise  what 
were  you  doing  under  the  dressing-table,  and  what  did 
you  hear,  or  rather  mis-hear?" 

"I  was  hiding  a  mouse  from  the  stable  to  frighten 
Marie  when  she  found  it."  And,  seeing  the  abbe's  eyes 
seek  Heaven  in  silent  protest,  Piotr  continued:  "You're 
going  to  say  it  was  not  chivalrous  like  Bayard  or  the  old 
Du  Guesclin  little  darling  Malou's  so  fond  of,  but  Marie's 
such  a  coward  and  I  wanted  to  hear  her  cry:  '  Oh!  M'ame 
la  Ditchesse — une  souris!  Uaff reuse  bete!  Elle  va  me  mor- 
dre!'" 

"Now  look  here,  Piotr,"  the  abbe"  said  with  enforced 
resignation,  "let  Marie  and  the  mouse  be  for  a  minute, 
and  admit  that  you  did  not  hear  a  word  of  what  you 
think  you  heard." 

"But  I  did  hear,  Uncle  Pierre,  I  did!  I  did!  I  did! 
Aunt  Tatiana  had  been  crying — at  least  I  think  she  must 
have  been,  because  her  eyes  looked  bright  as  my  blue 
marbles,  and  Uncle  Jean  said  to  her  in  Russian,  'Don't 
be  silly,  doushka,'  and  then  he  kissed  her;  and  she  rubbed 
her  nose  on  his  coat  and  said,  '  It's  dreadful,  Jeannot.  If 
Basil  arrives  now,  what  shall  we  do?'  and  then  Uncle  Jean 
said,  'He  can't  arrive  before  forty-eight  hours,  and  by 
that  time  the  SarceUe  will  be  far  out  to  sea!'  and  then  he 
dragged  her  to  the  balcony  to  make  her  look  down  at 
the  yacht,  and  I  ran  away  on  all-fours  so  they  couldn't 
see  me,  and  I  went  quick  to  Garrassime,  who  was  awful 
angry  with  me  for  telling  him.  Now  give  me  a  ride  on 
your  shoulder,  Uncle  Pierre,  all  around  the  quadrangle, 
to  reward  me  for  telling  you." 

283 


MOONGLADE 

"I'll  be  hanged  if  I  do!"  was  on  the  abba's  lips,  but 
Piotr  was  to  be  conciliated  just  then,  and  so  he  said  in- 
stead: "I  will  give  you  a  ride,  but  on  condition  that  you 
promise  to  forget  all  this  nonsense.  Promise,  Piotr, 
solemnly,  that  you  will  not  say  another  word  about  it  to 
any  one.  You  misunderstood  the  whole  thing,  I  assure 
you." 

Piotr  shook  his  head  twice  from  side  to  side.  He  was 
beginning  to  think  that  perhaps,  after  all,  he  had  been 
mistaken,  and  yet  not  quite;  but  a  ride  on  his  uncle's 
broad  shoulder  was  tempting,  so  he  suddenly  held  out  his 
square  little  paw.  "  Tope-la!"  he  gravely  proposed.  "I'll 
not  speak  to  anybody  about  Papa's  coming,  Uncle  Pierre; 
but  I  can't  help  knowing  that  he's  coming." 

"Good  Lord!"  murmured  the  abbe  under  his  breath, 
"there's  stubbornness  for  you!"  and,  picking  up  the  de- 
lighted child,  he  started  on  his  equine  course  at  a  brisk 
amble,  his  soutane  blown  by  the  wind  against  his  splendid 
form,  his  sash  flying  behind  him  in  the  gayest  way  pos- 
sible, although  his  heart  felt  sore  indeed. 

Marguerite  descended  from  her  high  perch,  not  at  a 
jump  as  she  was  wont  to  do,  but  very  wearily.  She  felt 
tired — something  new  to  her — and  very  sad;  but  her 
brave  eyes  were  clouded  by  no  tears,  and  her  lips  were 
absolutely  steady.  Her  lesson  in  self -repression  had  been 
learned  long  ago;  besides,  not  one  thought  of  her  own 
future,  after  the  tragedy  that  had  changed  everything, 
had  as  yet  entered  her  head,  which  she  held  just  as  straight 
as  ever. 

Tatiana  had  marveled  at  the  "  Gamin's"  tact  and  cour- 
age— this  motherless  little  creature,  whose  high-bred  self- 
respect  and  extreme  delicacy  of  feeling  were  sufficient 
to  make  her  avoid  the  slightest  faux-pas  in  speech  or  look 
under  crushing  difficulties.  Even  to  Tatiana  she  had  not 
said  a  word  that  could  betray  the  least  curiosity.  She 
had  not  alluded  to  the  extraordinary  presence  of  Preston 

284 


MOONGLADE 

Wynne  on  Laurence's  yacht,  and  had  indeed  hardly  al- 
luded to  the  catastrophe  at  all.  But  now,  as  she  walked 
slowly  along  the  parapet,  she  wondered  within  herself 
whether  it  was  really  true  that  Basil  was  on  his  way  to 
Salvieres.  Something  told  her  that  Piotr  had  spoken 
sooth,  and  the  abba's  evident  desire  to  nip  the  story  ~  so 
to  speak,  in  the  bud,  gave  her  much  food  for  reflection,  in 
spite  of  her  ignorance  of  what  had  happened  before. 

In  a  few  minutes  Piotr  came  back  to  her,  leaving  the 
abbe"  to  return  to  his  affairs,  and  the  game  of  ball  was 
resumed.  The  boy  was  dressed  in  white  without  any 
trace  of  mourning,  and  (by  Tatiana's  express  advice)  so 
was  Marguerite  herself,  for  word  had  been  passed  that 
Piotr  was  not  to  be  told  about  his  loss,  and  the  servants 
at  Salvieres  were  far  too  loyal  to  let  a  sign  escape  them 
that  might  betray  the  truth. 

The  predicament  of  Tatiana  and  her  husband  was  real- 
ly a  trying  one,  for  until  Preston's  departure  they  dreaded 
the  possible  arrival  of  Basil,  which  might  occur  at  any 
moment.  She  had  continued  to  look  after  Preston  Wynne 
devotedly,  and  her  unremitting  care  touched  him  to  the 
heart. 

"You  will  be  absolutely  comfortable  on  the  Sarcelle" 
she  said  to  him  that  evening.  "Jean  has  had  the  main 
saloon  arranged  so  that  it  will  be,  at  one  and  the  same 
time,  a  sleeping  and  living  apartment  for  you — a  library 
it  always  is,  more  or  less,  well  provided  with  bewilderingly 
mixed-up  literature:  funny,  serious,  instructive,  scientific, 
beatific,  and  sportive,  un  feu  pour  tous  les  gouts.  And, 
by  the  way,  how  do  you  like  your  two  attendants,  the 
orderly  and  the  carabin?" 

Preston,  lying  motionless  upon  his  bed,  turned  toward 
her  eyes  brimming  over  with  gratitude. 

"Your  kindness  to  me,  Madame  de  Salvieres,  has  been 
something  well-nigh  incredible.  A  lifetime  of  real  long 
length  would  hardly  be  enough  to  prove  to  you  how  pro- 

285 


MOONGLADE 

foundly  touched  I  am  by  it — but,"  he  murmured  beneath 
his  breath,  "there  will  be  no  long  life  to  do  it  in." 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,"  she  said,  quickly.  "It  does 
not  look  like  you  to  despair." 

"I  know,"  he  replied,  smiling  dubiously,  "but  what  I 
just  said  is  no  sign  of  despair.  Indeed,  to  linger  for  years 
as  a  totally  useless  lump,  a  burden  to  everybody,  would 
require  much  more  courage  than  to  take  a  polite  and  im- 
mediate leave  of  this  world.  Besides,  there  is  another 
bitterness  added  to  the  rest — I  hardly  like  to  speak  of 
that,  but  you  have  spoiled  me  to  the  extent  of  making 
me  look  upon  you  as  a  confessor  of  all  my  thoughts." 

' '  Oh,  go  on  then.     What  is  it  ?" 

"Well,"  he  hesitated,  "I  have  been  turning  over  facts 
in  my  mind  pretty  assiduously,  believe  me,  during  the 
last  few  days,  and  one  of  them  is  that  I  am  a  cripple 
unable  to  repair  in  any  way  the  harm  I  have  done.  No, 
please  don't  say  anything!  I  thoroughly  realize  that  the 
memory  of — of  Madame  Palitzin — will  be  for  ever  shad- 
owed by  the  manner  of — in  short,  by  what  preceded  the 
accident.  Too  many  know  that  I  was  on  board  the  Wild 
Rose;  it  will  leak  out  sooner  or  later  that  '  Mr.  Harring- 
ton,' the  private  secretary,  was  Preston  Wynne,  and  now 
that  it  has  become  a  physical  impossibility  for  me  to  give 
satisfaction  to  Prince  Palitzin,  the  stain  is  and  will  re- 
main indelible." 

"My  dear,  good  boy,"  Tatiana  recriminated,  "this  is 
sheer  morbidity.  First  of  all,  who  are  the  many  who, 
according  to  you,  know  that  'Mr.  Harrington'  was  not 
'Mr.  Harrington'?  Jean  and  myself  and  the  Abbe"  de 
Kerdren,  Regis,  old  Garrassime,  and  possibly  Marguerite 
de  Plenhoel,  although  she  has  not  mentioned  your  name 
or  your  presence  to  a  living  soul;  but,  of  course,  she  saw 
you  as  you  were  being  carried  ashore.  None  will  speak, 
rest  assured;  so  think  no  more  about  it  and  remember 
that  while  there  is  life  there  is  hope;  that  you  are  young, 

286 


MOONGLADE 

intelligent,  gifted,  and,  moreover,  extremely  wealthy,  since 
you  have  inherited  during  the  past  four  years  not  only 
your  father's  colossal  fortune,  but  also  your  grandmother's. 
This  gives  you  immense  opportunities  to  do  good;  to 
create  interests  of  many  sorts  for  yourself  that  will  occupy 
your  mind.  I  am  not  trying  to  overdose  you  with  rose- 
colored  views  of  a  painful  situation,  but  still — "  She 
paused  and  finished  her  discourse  by  a  very  convincing 
little  gesture. 

"Yes;  I  dare  say  you  are  right,"  Preston  admitted; 
"but  my  money  without  me  would  do  just  as  much  good, 
provided  I  managed  to  pass  it  on  to  somebody  who  would 
take  the  trouble  off  my  hands.  Personally  I  am  not  a 
philanthrope,  I  am  afraid." 

"Neither  am  I,"  she  retorted.  "Organized  charities 
are  a  horror  to  me.  Don't  misunderstand  what  I  say. 
I  certainly  admit  that  money  left  to  hospitals,  orphan- 
asylums,  creches,  etc.,  etc.,  is  well  employed;  but  it  has 
always  seemed  to  me  that  one  gold  piece  given  to  the 
truly  deserving,  from  hand  to  hand,  as  by  one  human 
being  to  another,  so  to  speak,  is  far  better  than  inscribing 
one's  name — almost  invariably  with  the  hope  of  its  being 
published  abroad — upon  a  list  of  so-called  philanthropies." 

"I  am  entirely  of  your  opinion,  excepting  that  in  order 
to  discover  the  truly  deserving  it  is  needful  to  be  up,  about, 
and  doing." 

"Not  with  a  fitting  and  faithful  agent." 

"A] faithful  and  fitting  representative?  Yes  .  .  .  per- 
haps!" 

"How  many  millions  have  you  got?"  she  asked,  laugh- 
ingly, to  cheer  him  up. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  immediately  catching  the  spirit  of  her 
mood,  "let  me  see — about  fifty — that  is  in  dollars,  you 
understand." 

"Two  hundred  and  fifty  millions  of  francs!  Good 
Lord!  That's  a  pleasing  sum!" 

287 


MOONGLADE 

"It  might  have  been,"  he  argued.    "But  now  ..." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  it's  just  exactly  now  that  they'll 
come  in  handy.  Think  of  it !  First  of  all,  a  big  steam- 
yacht,  .  .  .  they're  not  cheap  toys.  A  special  private 
car  .  .  ." 

"But  I  have  those  already,''  he  mourned.  "I  became 
heir  to  my  father's  whole  outfit,  lock,  stock,  and  barrel. 
There's  not  a  thing  to  look  forward  to  any  more!" 

"Dear,  dear!  What  it  is  to  be  pampered."  She  rose 
and,  bending  over  him,  smoothed  his  hard  little  apology 
for  a  pillow.  "I  must  go  and  dress  for  dinner,"  she  ex- 
plained. "  I  wish  I  didn't  have  to  leave  you  here  alone." 

He  pressed  his  lips  to  her  hand  as  it  flitted  beside  his 
head.  "You  have  been  so  good  to  me,  so  very,  very  good," 
he  said,  with  emotion,  "I  hate  to  think  I  am  leaving  you 
to-morrow,  never  to  see  you  again." 

"And  why  that,  pray?"  she  demanded. 

"Because,"  he  said — "because  there  seems  to  me  no 
possibility,  even  with  'my  big  yacht,'  to  come  once  more 
and  darken  your  doors  with  the  memories  I  would  un- 
avoidably suggest." 

"I  don't  agree  with  you  at  all,"  she  asserted;  "but  we 
will  come  back  to  this  to-morrow  morning.  Now  go  to 
sleep  as  soon  as  you  can,  like  a  good  child.  Buenas 
noches!" 

"Felices  suenos!"  he  murmured,  raising  his  eyes  wist- 
fully. "You,"  he  added,  "seem  determined  to  heap 
coals  of  scriptural  fire  upon  undeserving  heads.  Do  you 
always  return  good  for  evil?" 

"Evil!"  she  mused  aloud.  "Good  for  evil?  Granting 
that  this  be  my  habit,  it  would  merely  be  a  selfish  one, 
for  if  one  returns  evil  for  evil  and  bite  for  bite,  one  is 
cheated.  There  is  nothing  more  then  for  Almighty  God 
to  do;  it  is  much  better  to  remain  His  creditor." 

"That's  a  new  view  of  the  case,"  he  pondered,  and  then, 
in  an  altered  tone,  suddenly  added:  "Madame  de  Sal- 

288 


MOONGLADE 

vieres,  you  have  always  done  so  much  for  me,  will  you — 
will  you  kiss  me  good  night?" 

"Why,  yes,  of  course  I  will,"  she  assented,  and,  bending 
once  more  over  him,  she  kissed  him  on  the  forehead. 
"  VoilcL,  mon  enfant"  she  said,  pushing  back  his  hair;  and 
he  watched  her  white  dress  disappear  in  the  penumbra 
of  the  immense  room. 

Left  alone,  he  gave  a  long,  shuddering  sigh,  and  for  a 
moment  closed  his  eyes  very  tight.  When  he  opened 
them  again  he  let  them  wander  about  the  room,  with  its 
splendid  tapestries,  its  admirably  preserved  antique  fur- 
niture, its  deep  window  embayments  filled  by  transpar- 
ent shadows,  that  revealed  here  the  dull  gold  of  a  frame, 
there  the  bevel  of  a  looking-glass,  the  pale  gleam  of  ivory, 
the  deeper  darkness  of  bronze,  and  the  groups  of  flowering 
plants  Tatiana  had  caused  to  be  brought  there  for  the 
pleasure  of  his  gaze.  Close  beside  him  on  a  very'  low 
table,  which  he  could  easily  reach  without  moving  more 
than  his  arm,  stood  a  great  bunch  of  violets  in  a  bowl  of 
Venetian  glass;  there  was  also  there  a  block-note  provided 
with  paper  and  envelopes,  a  fountain-pen,  a  silver  tray 
upon  which  rested  a  decanter  of  Muscat  de  Frontignan,  a 
box  of  cigarettes,  a  match-safe,  and  a  glass,  and  on  the 
other  edge  two  or  three  little  medicine-bottles  and  a 
crystal  spoon. 

He  could  hear  the  carabin — as  the  Duchess  had  desig- 
nated him — walking  softly  up  and  down  in  the  adjoining 
salon,  waiting  to  be  summoned,  but  he  did  not  do  this. 
Instead  he  noiselessly  drew  paper  and  pen  toward  him, 
and  a  little  awkwardly  began  to  write,  holding  the  pad 
almost  upright  before  his  eyes,  for  to  be  quite  flat  on  one's 
back  is  inconvenient  for  such  business.  Sheet  after  sheet 
he  covered  with  shaky  but  very  legible  writing,  quite 
aware  that  twice  the  medical  student,  and  twice  the  or- 
derly, had  peeped  in  at  the  door  to  see  how  he  was  doing. 
A  little  smile  raised  the  corners  of  his  lips,  but  he  took  no 

289 


MOONGLADE 

further  notice  and  went  on  writing  quietly.  At  last  he 
had  done,  and,  folding  the  scattered  pages,  he  slipped  them 
into  an  envelope  together  with  a  few  violets  from  the 
fragrant  cluster  Tatiana  herself  had  brought  to  him  an 
hour  or  so  before;  gummed  the  flap  down,  wrote  the  ad- 
dress, "Madame  la  Dnchesse  de  Salvibres,Personnelle"  and 
slid  the  packet  into  the  breast  pocket  of  his  pajama  jacket. 
Then  he  called  the  budding  doctor. 

"Mon  cher  ami,"  he  said,  "before  braving  again  the 
perils  of  the  sea — which  will  be  to-morrow  if  all  goes  well 
— I  wish  to  make  some  temporary  disposal  of  my  property, 
or  properties,  rather,  for,  alas!  they  are  numerous.  I  sup- 
pose that  according  to  French  law  a  brief  document  of  the 
kind  I  am  thinking  of,  witnessed  by  you  and,  for  instance, 
your  assistant,  would  be  quite  valid?" 

"Why,  yes,  monsieur,  certainly.  It  is  what  they  call 
a  holograph  will,  but  I  am  very  sorry  to  see  that  you  are 
feeling  anxious.  There  is  no  danger,  I  assure  you,  in 
crossing  the  ocean  in  such  a  ship  as  Monsieur  le  Due  de 
Salvieres's  yacht;  and  as  to  your  health,  why,  there  is  no 
doubt  that  you  will  improve  with  every  day." 

Preston  laughed.  "I  am  not  in  the  least  anxious,  I 
swear  to  you,"  he  said,  lightly.  "Of  course  my  general 
health  will  be  improved  by  the  sea  trip  before  us — though 
it  will  have,  as  you  know,  no  effect  whatever  upon  the 
lesion  that  has — shall  we  say  preoccupied  us  all?" 

The  youthful  doctor  looked  embarrassed  and  felt  him- 
self color,  much  to  his  disgust.  "Oh,  that  naturally  is 
another  question,  monsieur.  Still,  you  have  great 
strength,  great  energy;  the  vital  organs  are  all  in  won- 
derful condition." 

"Don't  be  professional!  Please!  Please!"  smiled 
Preston.  "Be  legal,  however,  if  you  don't  mind,  for  a 
few  moments,  and  satisfy  my  mind  before  I  seek  oblivion 
in  sleep.  Here,  give  me  that  block-note  and  the  pen; 
I'll  just  scribble  what  I  want." 

290 


MOONGLADE 

With  a  tolerant  little  glance  at  his  patient's  face  the 
young  man  complied,  and  accepted  a  cigarette,  which  he 
smoked  with  exceeding  relish  while  the  work  was  in 
progress. 

"There  we  are !"  Preston  said,  triumphantly,  aftera  while. 
"Bravo!  the  magistrature,  as  you  call  it  here — or  is  it 
the  barreauf — has  lost  a  great  luminary  in  my  humble 
person.  Read  my  chef-d'oeuvre,  my  friend,  and  tell  me 
what  you  think  of  it.  You  observe  that  I  have  made  it 
out  both  in  French  and  in  English.  Hum !  Wasn't  that 
smart  of  me?" 

"It's  always  best  to  humor  patients,"  the  other  re- 
flected, remembering  the  teachings  of  more  than  one  grim 
instructor,  and  he  took  the  wide-open  page,  over  which 
he  scarcely  glanced.  What  did  it  matter  to  him? 

"It  seems  very  legal,"  he  smiled,  good-naturedly. 
"  Do  you  really  wish  my  signature  and  Olivier's  to  this?" 
(Olivier  was  the  orderly's  gracious  cognomen.) 

"Course  I  do;  otherwise  why  should  I  have  given 
myself  such  elaborate  pains?  The  caligraphy  may  leave 
a  little  to  be  desired,  but  what  will  you?  A  la  guerre 
comme  a  la  guerre!" 

The  deed  accomplished  with  no  solemnity  at  all,  Pres- 
ton closed  the  second  envelope  and  joined  it  to  the  first 
in  his  pocket. 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  he  said,  pleasantly,  "I  should 
like  to  read  for  half  an  hour  or  so  before  composing  my- 
self to  slumber.  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  hand  me  that 
most  interesting  volume  of  short  stories  there  on  the 
chair?" 

The  interne  readily  complied.  He  wanted  to  write  a 
few  words  to  his  mother  before  retiring,  and  so  he  quickly 
returned  to  the  salon. 

Slowly,  and  with  some  difficulty,  Preston  drew  the 
upper  part  of  his  body  inch  by  inch  to  the  very  edge  of 
the  bed,  made  a  long  arm,  and  managed  noiselessly  to 

291 


MOONGLADE 

reach  a  bottle  adorned  with  a  crimson  label.  Steadily, 
deliberately,  laboriously,  he  took  the  tumbler  from  the 
tray,  half  -filled  it  with  wine  from  the  decanter,  poured  in 
the  whole  contents  of  the  medicine-bottle  —  slanting  the 
glass  so  as  to  avoid  any  sound  —  replaced  everything  in 
order,  and  swallowed  the  dose  in  two  deep  draughts. 
Then  he  lay  back  on  his  pillow,  and,  strange  to  say,  this 
non-Catholic  made  the  sign  of  the  cross. 


"Madame  la  Duchesse!    Madame  la  Duchesse!" 

The  strangled  tones  of  the  medical  student  made  Ta- 
tiana,  who  was  leaning  over  the  balcony  of  her  room 
looking  at  the  crescent  moon,  start  with  a  sudden  uncon- 
trollable dread. 

"What  is  it?"  she  cried  in  a  shaking  voice. 

"Come  down,  come  down,  quick!" 

Her  hair  already  unbound  for  the  night  and  falling 
below  her  knees,  her  peignoir  fluttering  like  wings  behind 
her,  Tatiana  joined  him  on  the  terrace. 

"My  God,"  she  whispered,  "you  look  like  a  ghost!" 

The  young  man  tried  to  speak,  gulped,  tried  again,  and 
failed.  He  was  shaking  like  a  leaf  as  he  pointed  to  the 
lighted  windows  of  Preston's  room. 

She  needed  now  no  explanation,  and  her  little  feet 
in  their  velvet  mules  covered  the  ground  from  one  en- 
trance to  the  other  as  fast  as  Marguerite's  could  have 
done. 

In  the  room  all  was  as  still  and  orderly  as  when  she  had 
last  left  it;  on  the  bed  lay  Preston  .  .  .  asleep?  No!  One 
look  was  enough,  and,  rushing  forward,  she  pushed  out 
of  her  way  the  Salvieres  doctor,  who  stood  white-faced 
and  helpless  between  her  and  the  quiet  form. 

"Have  you  tried  everything?"  she  asked,  tremulously, 
her  hand  on  the  still  heart,  her  lips  twitching. 

"Yes,  everything  —  so  heavy  a  dose  of  chloral  paralyzes 

292 


MOONGLADE 

the  heart  quickly — and  when  the  doctor  there  called  me 
it  was  already  all  over." 

Tatiana  swayed  a  little.  "Chloral!"  she  said,  dully. 
"Chloral — left  near  him!  And  I  never  thought  of  that, 
miserable  fool  that  I  am!" 

"Who  could  have  thought  of  it,  Madame  la  Duchesse, 
cheerful  as  he  was?" 

"We  should  have  thought !"  She  stooped  over  Preston 
and  hopelessly  put  her  ear  to  his  heart,  her  fingers  on  his 
pulse.  A  rustle  of  paper  made  her  straighten  herself 
abruptly,  and  then  she  sat  down  all  of  a  piece  on  the  edge 
of  the  bed  close  to  him  and  tore  open  the  envelope  ad- 
dressed to  her. 

Her  fingers  were  shaking  so,  her  eyes  were  so  hazy,  that 
at  first  she  could  not  see,  and  with  the  gesture  of  a  sorrow- 
ing child  she  passed  the  back  of  her  hand  across  her  face. 
"I  must!  I  must!"  she  murmured,  and  slowly  she  un- 
folded the  little  leaves. 

"  Another  burden  yet  will  I  impose  upon  you,"  she  read, 
"that  of  keeping  me  near  you  in  consecrated  ground — for 
you  will  see  to  that,  will  you  not?  since  from  you  I  have 
learned  so  much." 

She  paused;  two  large  tears  glided  down  her  cheeks; 
then  she  went  on  bravely  to  the  end.  "I  leave  all  I  have 
to  leave  to  the  Abbe  de  Kerdren  for  the  poor;  all  except- 
ing a  sum  sufficient  to  make  him  whom  you  called  my 
carabin  independent  for  life.  He  has,  I  understand,  a 
mother  to  support.  You  will  approve,  I  know.  Also 
you  will  think  gently  of  me  and  pray  for  me — I  do  not 
doubt  that.  God  bless  and  reward  you." 

The  three  men  in  the  room,  with  heads  lowered,  hardly 
dared  to  breathe. 

"Olivier,"  the  Duchess  said  at  last,  very  low,  "go  and 
fetch  the  Duke."  And  she  knelt  down  beside  Preston, 


CHAPTER  XX 

Though  you  may  claim  with  seeming  sense 
That  Ignorance  is  not  Innocence, 
And  that  it  doth  her  worth  enhance 
Whose  Innocence  is  not  Ignorance; 
In  either  case,  recall  to  mind, 
Unstainedness  is  hard  to  find, 
And  when  the  childish  kind  is  rare 
The  other  lives  not  anywhere. 

THE  harvest  had  ripened  and  been  cut  in  the  fields,  and 
rich  red  apples  were  glowing  like  ambitious  rubies  in 
every  orchard  of  the  fair  valley  of  Salvidres,  where  the 
sun  brought  forth  all  the  beauty  of  variegated  foliage — • 
fawn,  and  scarlet,  and  amaranth,  and  pure  gold. 

It  was  early  morning  as  yet,  and  tiny  pink  fleeces  of 
cloud  still  lingered  in  the  east,  infinite  and  subtle  against 
the  deepening  blue  of  the  sky.  The  little  river  flowed 
rapidly  between  its  screens  of  bushes  and  tall  reeds,  and 
the  grass  in  the  shadow  of  hedge  and  tree,  not  quite  dry 
of  night-dews,  held  a  million  liquid  gems  of  iridescent 
tints  that  seemed  to  sparkle  the  more  for  the  gentle 
thunder  of  the  water,  scurrying  over  great  mossy  rocks 
on  its  way  to  the  sea. 

Thatched  roofs  nestled  beneath  the  heathery  heights 
inclosing  the  valley  on  both  sides — heights  crowned  with 
serried  regiments  of  firs — and  on  the  Castle  side  lawns  of 
emerald  green  ran  headlong  down  the  steep  descent  to 
the  limits  of  the  home  park  and  its  splendid  gates  of  forged 
iron.  The  park  was  a  spot  well  suited  to  reveries  and  day- 

294 


MOONGLADE 

dreams;  a  concert-place  for  nightingales  where  the  grassy 
alleys  were  chequered  by  light  and  shade  in  almost  equal 
measure,  as  a  rule,  but  now  the  deep-diapered  shadows 
were  still  heavy.  It  was  a  faultless  morning,  indeed,  and 
so  thought  the  "Gamin"  as  she  stood  for  a  moment  lean- 
ing against  the  scaly  bark  of  a  Himalayan  cedar,  gazing 
downward  to  the  pearl-and-silver  haze  that  hung  gauzily 
over  the  river.  A  flock  of  sanctimonious  rooks  circled 
overhead,  cawing  their  raucous  warning,  while  blackbirds 
flitting  to  and  fro  under  the  branches  sent  from  their 
yellow  beaks  a  constant  melodious  whistle,  whose  bour- 
don was  furnished  by  squadrons  of  bees  mumbling  all 
together  as  they  worked  from  clump  to  clump  of  wild 
autumnal  flowers:  "We're  working — working — working — 
we're  working — working  against— the  winter;  we're  working 
— working — well! ' ' 

The  "Gamin"  did  not  move,  thinking  her  white 
thoughts  there  undisturbed.  She  wore  a  soft  dress  of 
dove-gray,  one  half -blown  snowy  rose  with  a  heart  of  gold 
in  her  belt,  and  beneath  her  wide-winged  garden  hat  her 
crinkled  hair  was  golden,  too,  but  of  a  paler  shade. 

"Oh,  what — what — will  happen  next?"  The  question 
repeated  and  repeated  itself  rhythmically  in  her  mind. 
She  had  so  often  of  late  proposed  it  to  herself.  In  her 
blue  eyes  prayer,  doubt,  anxiety,  and  hope  shone  together 
in  puzzled  complexity.  She  looked  very  lovely,  and  if  she 
seemed  several  tints  less  merry  than  she  had  been,  a 
thought  more  pensive  than  of  yore,  nobody  could  like  her 
any  the  less  for  that.  A  true  young  girl's  inner  mind  is 
so  graciously  mysterious,  teeming  with  so  many  delicate 
fancies  all  its  own,  and  such  strange  and  delicious  dreams 
throng  there,  that  no  man  worthy  the  name  would  be  bold 
enough  to  so  much  as  try  and  probe  them. 

She  took  a  few  steps  on  the  thick  moss  over-glazed 
by  fragrant  cedar  needles  and  fell  again  to  admiring  the 
play  of  the  sunbeams  on  the  velvet  slope  that  dropped 

295 


MOONGLADE 

away  from  her  little  feet.  Behind  her  the  duskiness  of 
the  park,  crossed  and  recrossed  by  flights  of  furtive 
wings,  slept  undisturbed;  and,  suddenly  attracted  by  a 
wondrous-fat  beetle  of  bronzed  corselet  and  lance-like 
antennae,  she  knelt  on  the  elastic  brown  of  the  moss  to 
watch  his  busy,  fussy  course  the  closer.  Soon  she  dis- 
covered that  another  beetle  a  trifle  more  gracile  in  make, 
less  adult  in  appearance,  more  green  of  armor,  and  far 
more  brilliant,  was  scurrying  up  from  the  opposite  side, 
horns  in  rest — as  it  were — a  bellicose  glint  on  the  bulging 
surface  of  its  beady  eyes.  "They're  going  to  fight,"  she 
whispered,  and  glanced  swiftly  around  to  find  the  cause 
of  this  warlike  humor.  Ah,  yes!  there  it  was,  not  far 
away  under  the  shelter  of  a  foxglove-leaf — a  beautiful 
lady-beetle  flying  the  dazzling  colors  of  a  cantharide  rose- 
bug  all  ashimmer  with  metallic  splendor. 

So  absorbed  was  she  in  the  impending  combat  that  she 
failed  to  hear  a  step  coming  along  the  sanded  path  four 
yards  away.  It  came  quickly,  determinately,  but  a  few 
paces  from  where  she  still  knelt  it  halted  abruptly,  and 
for  a  breathing-space  the  melodious  silence  of  the  wooded 
solitude  trembled  anew  in  the  balance.  The  beetles  were 
advancing  threateningly  toward  each  other;  the  fun  would 
soon  grow  fast  and  furious.  The  "Gamin"  bent  closer,  a 
smile  of  amusement  parting  her  lips,  and  then  the  tiny 
crackle  of  a  branch  made  her  turn  and  look. 

"Basil!"  she  cried.  "Basil!"  There  was  such  sur- 
prised delight  and  at  the  same  time  such  tender  sympathy 
in  the  exclamation,  that  Marguerite's  instinct  alone  could 
have  blended  it  so  well. 

"Yes,  it's  I,"  he  said,  stating  a  patent  fact  in  the  rather 
dull  way  he  used  at  times  of  embarrassment,  without 
moving  an  inch  toward  her;  then  he  came  forward,  hand 
outstretched,  with  a  "How  are  you,  Marguerite?"  that 
fell  cold  and  over-indifferent  on  the  mellowness  of  the  air. 

Her  small  fingers  resting  for  a  second  or  so  in  his,  she 

296 


MOONGLADE 

answered,  "Very  well.  And  you?"  in  the  tone  of  one 
meeting  a  casual  acquaintance  after  a  few  hours'  sepa- 
ration; but  then  she  could  not  repress  a  nervous  little 
laugh,  for  which  she  could  instantly  have  beaten  herself 
with  rods. 

"How  do  you  come  to  be  out  so  early?"  he  said,  con- 
versationally, his  heart  strumming  against  his  side. 

"And  how  did  you  enter  the  park?"  she  countered  in 
unconscious  retaliation. 

"By  the  village  gate.  I  came  from  the  station  in  a 
most  egregious  cariole  drawn  by  a  magnificent  Anglo- 
Norman,  of  course,  and  driven  by  a  blue-bloused,  cotton- 
bonneted  native,  who  charged  me  one  hundred  sols- 
Parisis  for  the  job,  and  whom  I  dismissed  with  something 
additional  at  the  said  gate." 

"But,"  she  argued,  white  now  as  the  white  rose  at  her 
waist — "but  why  didn't  you  telegraph  for  a  carriage — 
announce  your  arrival?" 

"I  thought  of  it,  but  decided  that  it  was  more  in  my 
line  to  sneak  in  like  a  thief  in  the  morning.  .  /.That  is 
misquoted,  I  believe." 

She  was  searching  his  dear  face  despairingly  for  infor- 
mation as  to  his  true  state  of  feeling.  He  was  talking 
against  time,  she  knew  well  enough,  but  what  was  there 
lurking  behind  that  calm,  almost  apathetic  expression? 
Had  he  heard  about  Laurence — about  the  wreck?  Did 
he  know  already  that  the  beautiful  woman  who  had 
borne  his  name  none  too  well  was  silently  awaiting  his  re- 
turn in  a  triple  envelope  of  palisander  and  silver  and  lead, 
to  be  carried  far  away  where  all  past  Princesses  Palitzin 
had  been  laid  in  state  for  many  generations?  And  Piotr, 
wasn't  he  going  even  to  mention  Piotr — Tatiana,  or  Jean? 
Her  sweet  countenance,  like  the  valley  below,  was  caught 
in  a  maze  of  swiftly  lightening  and  darkening  impressions, 
sunshine  and  shadow,  doubt  and  fear,  and  again  hope  con- 
quering them  all;  but  he  remained  immovable  to  the 
20  297 


MOONGLADE 

verge  of  stupidity,  aware,  though,  and  fully,  that  she  was 
suffering  and — God! — that  he  too  suffered,  suffered  un- 
bearably— as,  had  she  been  quicker,  she  would  have  no- 
ticed by  the  almost  imperceptible  quiver  of  his  under  lip. 

"Shall  we  move  on?"  he  asked  at  length,  shaking  his 
shoulders  ever  so  slightly. 

She  nodded  the  big,  soft  wings  of  her  hat,  her  face 
hidden  now,  and  stepped  into  the  path  five  inches  ahead 
of  him.  The  belligerent  beetles,  scared  by  the  voices, 
had  prudently  subdued  their  foaming  wrath  and  post- 
poned their  jealous  combat. 

As  they  walked  off  Marguerite  was  mechanically  count- 
ing the  great  men  whom  history  has  made  famous  for  their 
inclination  toward  dullness — the  heroes  of  romance  like- 
wise indicated — Porthos  and  Athos — and  Charlemagne — 
and  Barbarossa — and  Ferdinand  II.  of  Austria — and  Bay- 
ard himself,  despite  all  the  glamour  of  his  faith,  his  courage, 
and  his  purity.  The  monk  Abelard  (who — but  she  did  not 
know  that — had  his  excuses,  of  course),  Wilfred  of  Ivan- 
hoe,  and  many,  many  others,  lovable,  admirable,  classic — 
and  classified  according  to  their  merits.  She  stole  a 
glance  toward  the  splendid  man  striding  beside  her,  and 
wondered  why  marriage,  even  unhappy  marriage,  had 
wrought  such  a  change  in  him.  He  had  never  been  lively 
even  in  the  past,  but  since  that  memorable  day  when 
Laurence  had  appeared  on  the  scene  at  Plenhoel  he  had 
appeared  to  be  another  being,  triumphant  and  frozen, 
glorified  and  stupefied  in  turn;  at  first  too  visibly  happy 
to  be  taken  seriously,  afterward  sliding  gradually  into  a 
half -tinted  mood  that  lost  him  all  power  to  show  himself 
as  he  really  was.  And  now  had  he  really  any  heart  left? 
she  asked  herself  in  amaze.  His  outward  appearance  was 
reassuring.  He  looked,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  younger  than 
he  had  when  she  had  last  seen  him — his  forehead  quite 
smooth,  his  finely  cut  features  a  hint  more  masterful  than 
ever,  his  eyes  clear  and  direct,  and  there  was  just  a  touch 

298 


MOONGLADE 

of  haughtiness  in  his  bearing  she  had  not  yet  seen  there, 
as  though  he  were  challenging  the  universe  to  come  and 
pity  him. 

"Dilly,  Dilly,  come  and  be  killed!"  rang,  she  fancied,  in 
the  very  sound  of  his  foot  on  the  gravel.  A  foot  of  ad- 
mirable shape  and  comparative  narrowness,  although  a 
bit  heroic — ex-pede-Herculem! 

Everything  has  an  end — nur  die  Wurst  hat  zwei  (as  our 
graceful  friends  the  Germans  have  a  knack  of  putting  it) — 
and  that  charming  long  walk  round  to  the  Castle  inclosure, 
machicolated  and  betowered  and  bekeeped,  came  at  last 
to  its  conclusion.  Not  another  word  had  been  spoken. 
At  the  base  of  the  turret  where  Basil  had  always  had  his 
rooms  the  couple  came  to  a  stand.  It  was  a  very  proud, 
historic  turret,  coiffed  with  a  pointed  octagonal  slate 
poivriere  agreeably  topped  by  a  gray  vane,  and  entered 
by  one  of  those  mullioned  pointed  doorways  that  are  the 
delight  of  artists,  with  their  intricate  sculpturings,  dainty 
rainceaux  and  wonderful  stone  tendrils  engarlanding  the 
royal  fleur-de-lys. 

"Now,  please"  said  Basil — "please  don't  awaken  any 
one  for  me,  Marguerite.  I'd  sooner  be  alone  at  first,  just 
for  a  little  while  at  least." 

"Can't  I  call  Garrassime?"  she  pleaded,  prettily,  her 
mouth  drooping  at  the  corners  in  a  tiny  moue  that  made 
him  pull  himself  together  with  a  mental  jerk. 

"Ah,  yes!  to  be  sure,  Garrassime  is  here,"  he  remarked; 
"but  I  would  rather  you  didn't  call  him.  I  am  used  to 
shifting  for  myself  now  whenever  it's  necessary;  often  I 
prefer  it,  even." 

His  hand  was  on  the  etched  and  graven  latch,  the 
primeval  and  archaic  loquet  of  the  door,  that  was  still 
thought  sufficient  to  guard  the  treasures  within  when 
the  family  was  there.  The  banner  flapping  in  the  eternal 
sea-breeze  above  the  keep  was  guard  enough  for  all  pur- 
poses then. 

299 


MOONGLADE 

"As  you  will,"  said  the  "Gamin."  "Et  que  dieu  wus 
protige,  mon  cousin!"  and  she  turned  and  went  her  way. 

From  the  greater  portion  of  the  days  that  followed,  and 
from  all  the  conferences  a  deux,  a  trois,  et  a  quatre  which 
took  up  so  many  hours,  Marguerite  naturally  was  absent. 
She  had  known  it  would  be  thus,  and  was  resigned  before- 
hand to  her  isolation,  but  what  she  had  not  counted  upon 
was  the  sudden  removal  of  Piotr  and  Garrassime  to  far- 
off  Plenhoel  without  the  boy  having  seen  his  father. 
Why  they  hadn't  sent  her  off  also  she  could  not  imagine, 
for  what  use  was  she,  excepting  at  meal-times,  when  she 
was  expected  to  fill  her  place  as  usual? 

She  missed  Piotr  very  much.  Basil  she  hardly  saw. 
Tatiana  and  Jean  and  her  own  father  had  evidently  never 
been  so  busy  in  their  lives.  Poor  "  Antinous"  had  said  to 
her:  "It's  a  bad  moment  to  pass,  mon  Chevalier.  Keep  a 
stiff  upper  lip!  Basil  is  going  to  convey  his — er — relic 
to  Russia.  Noblesse-oblige  you  know — and  then  you  and 
I,  my  precious,  will  take  flight  too  and  rebegin  our  good 
little  comfortable  life  once  more." 

"But  what  of  Piotr?"  she  had  asked.  "Can't  we  keep 
him  with  us,  Papa?  I  cannot  imagine  why  Basil  appears 
to  push  him  purposely  out  of  his  way.  The  de  Salvieres 
have  their  own  cares,  their  own  duties  and  interests,  but 
we,  Papa,  in  our  menage  de  vieux  gar$ons  have  nothing 
but  our  two  selfish  selves  to  think  of.  Can't  we  keep  him, 
Papa,  until  Basil  awakes  ?  Can't  we  really,  please,  please! ' ' 

She  had  put  up  her  hands  like  good  Sir  Hugh  Calverley 
of  Froissart  fame,  and  had  looked  so  much  more  effective, 
or  rather  affecting,  than  that  dauntless  knight  could  ever 
have  done,  that  Rdgis  had  inwardly  surrendered — he  was 
so  sorry  for  his  Chevalier — although  outwardly  he  had 
pooh-poohed  the  proposal. 

Now,  as  the  period  of  discussion  drew  to  a  close,  Mar- 
guerite began  to  feel  the  influence  of  a  factor  she  had 
hitherto  ignored  absolutely — namely,  the  presence  of  those 

300 


MOONGLADE 

torturers  called  nerves,  the  gain  and  livelihood  of  sapient 
specialists  the  world  over,  who  grope  among  them,  funi- 
bling  with  forces  of  which  they  are  as  truly  ignorant  as 
are  the  greatest  physicists  of  the  real  potency  or  im- 
potency  of  electricity.  Her  whole  being  was  stretched 
on  the  rack  of  incertitude,  of  ceaseless  questionings  of  the 
future;  and  this  is  a  bad  state  of  affairs.  "What  is  going 
to  happen  next?"  The  wind  waltzing  along  the  cliffs 
sang  it  to  its  own  gyrations,  the  great  trees  of  the  park, 
courtesying  and  bowing  to  a  passing  squall,  echoed  it; 
the  very  rustle  of  her  silk  and  batiste  pillow  in  the  depth 
of  the  night  murmured  it  slyly  in  her  ear  as  she  settled 
herself  to  try  and  sleep.  * 

One  afternoon  she  had  ridden  off  immediately  after  the 
second  breakfast,  followed  by  Ireland — who  invariably  ac- 
companied her  as  the  most  important  unit  of  her  personal 
household  when  she  visited  anywhere — and  was  cantering 
toward  the  chestnut-woods  belonging  to  Salvieres.  She 
was  on  the  thoroughbred  English  horse  that  was  Pavlo's 
special  property,  a  savage-tempered  hunter  of  tender 
years  who  had  from  the  first  made  up  his  mind  to  struggle 
and  resist  on  any  and  every  pretext,  whether  reasonable 
or  not.  He  answered — or  refused  to  answer  oftener  than 
often — to  the  mild  and  misleading  cognomen  of  "Narses" 
— a  name  he  had  no  sort  of  right  to,  being  a  fire-eating 
stallion  beautiful  beyond  compare. 

"Narses"  was  mincing  his  steps  like  a  dancing-master, 
his  dainty,  almost  transparent  ears  erect,  but  quite  de- 
murely so — a  trick  he  had  when  bent  on  special  mischief — 
but  his  rider  knew  that  and  was  ready  for  him,  which 
robbed  the  equine  pleasantry  of  half  of  its  value.  At 
the  turning  of  one  broad,  shady  allee  into  another  "Narses" 
suddenly  "swapped  ends"  with  a  violence  that  would  have 
unseated  any  less  supple  equestrienne  than  the  "Gamin"; 
then  began  a  series  of  snorts,  not  to  say  grunts,  testifying 
to  the  utmost  terror.  Marguerite  laughed,  stretched  her- 

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self  forward,  and  presented  the  culprit  with  a  flat-handed 
box  on  the  side  of  the  neck,  which  he  scarcely  felt,  except- 
ing in  his  innermost  soul,  but  he  stopped  his  gruntings; 
and,  strangely  enough,  suffered  himself  to  be  brought  face 
to  face  with  an  intimate  stable  companion  mounted  by 
Basil.  She  had  a  way  with  horses,  had  Marguerite. 

The  rencontre,  unpremeditated  by  her  at  least,  was  not 
unwelcome,  and  she  smiled  up  at  her  kinsman  in  her 
old  merry  way. 

"You  should  not  ride  that  brute!"  was  his  gracious  form 
of  greeting,  and  its  masterfulness  made  her  laugh  again. 
"I  beg  your  pardon,"  apologized  Basil,  "but  really 
'Narses'  is  not  a  woman's  hack,  and  I  think  R6gis  must 
be  demented  if  he  allows  you  to  do  it." 

"And  why,  pray?"  she  asked,  curtly.  "I  ride  always 
whatever  I  please.  Besides,  'Narses'  is  not  wicked;  he 
is  merely  playful." 

"Playful,  eh?  Well,  since  you  are  here  we  might  try 
and  gallop  to  take  his  playfulness  out  of  him.  'The  Cid' 
will  steady  and  chasten  him  after  a  fashion,  I  hope." 

"All  right,"  she  consented,  ranging  alongside,  and  with 
Ireland  fifty  hoof-beats  behind,  they  proceeded  toward 
the  head-waters  of  the  river. 

Basil  looked  more  at  ease,  less  absorbed,  and  altogether 
more  human,  as  she  expressed  it  to  herself.  The  saddle 
was  his  natural  place — that  was  where  he  was  at  his  best, 
at  any  rate;  and  when  they  came  to  the  first  check  in 
their  gallop  much  ice  had  fallen  to  pieces  between  them. 

"You  ride  marvelously,"  he  conceded,  with  that  air  of 
studiously  avoiding  a  compliment  which  had  the  gift  of 
making  her  rear  mentally  up  on  end,  it  was  so  obviously 
forced. 

"My  grateful  thanks  to  you,  good  sir,"  she  said.  "I 
salute  you,"  and  with  a  quick,  roguish  gesture  she  grave- 
ly raised  her  straw  hat  and  suited  the  action  to  the 
words. 

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" Good  Lord!"  came  from  Basil.  "  Don't  you  wear  any 
pins  to  hold  that  thing  on?" 

"Not  being,  so  far,  entirely  deprived  of  hair,"  she  re- 
plied, "pins  would  be  a  pure  nuisance." 

"Deprived  of  hair!"  he  could  not  help  exclaiming.  "I 
should  think  not;  but  what's  that  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"Everything!  Can't  you  see  that  when  it's  all  tightly 
piled  atop  of  my  head,  a  well-made  sailor-hat  just  fits  over 
it?  Its  crown,  filled  to  the  edges,  can't  stir;  it  isn't  like 
a  modern  crown,  you  see,  which  is  a  comfort." 

Basil  did  not  laugh  outright,  but  he  looked  as  if  he 
were  very  near  doing  so,  and  this,  too,  was  by  way  of 
being  a  comfort  to  the  rider  of  "Narses." 

They  were  now  following  a  narrower  path  on  the  sum- 
mit of  a  low  hill,  away  inland,  and,  having  slackened 
speed  to  let  their  horses  breathe,  it  was  difficult  to  avoid 
a  chat. 

"I  am  leaving  to-morrow,"  began  Basil,  with  that 
startling  lack  of  the  most  ordinary  tact  which  is  displayed 
by  men  of  his  stamp  under  certain  conditions. 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes.  I  did  not  expect  to  stay  so  long,  but  circum- 
tances — " 

"Over  which  you  had  no  control,"  finished  the  "Gamin," 
calmly. 

"What  did  you  say?"  he  asked,  turning  to  look  at 
her  with  a  sudden  suspicion  that  she  was  laughing  at 
him. 

"I  said,  circumstances  over  which  you  had  no  control 
— that's  the  accepted  formula,  isn't  it?"  she  retorted. 

Basil  rode  in  silence  for  a  full  two  minutes,  then  began 
again,  stiffly:  "As  I  am  leaving  Normandy  to-morrow — " 

"When  you  discover  a  subject  of  conversation  you 
push  it  to  its  furthest  possibilities,"  Marguerite  inter- 
rupted. "Well,  it  is  gradually  dawning  on  me  that  you 
really  intend  to  leave  Normandy,  Salvieres,  and  the  be- 

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MOONGLADE 

neighboring  regions  to-morrow,  although  wiseacres  pre- 
tend that  to-morrow  does  not  exist." 

This  unwonted  flippancy  caught  Basil  on  the  raw, 
and  his  teeth  closed  so  grimly  that  the  muscles  became 
vaguely  apparent  beneath  the  tan  of  his  lean  cheeks;  a 
signal  his  tyro-tormentor  perceived  clearly,  and  was  ex- 
asperated enough  to  appreciate  profoundly. 

"If  you  will  deign  to  grant  me  your  attention  for  a  few 
short  moments,  I  will  explain  why  I  make  a  point  of  bring- 
ing this  inconsiderable  event  to  your  notice." 

"Imbecile!"  flashed  through  Marguerite's  mind  amid 
a  flood  of  remorse  for  such  a  desecration.  "I  grant 
you  my  attention,"  she,  however,  persevered,  and  Basil 
viciously  bit  one  end  of  his  mustache,  which  he  had 
drawn  into  his  mouth. 

"I  will  be  gone  for  a  wholly  indeterminate  period  of 
time,"  he  pursued.  "Years,  probably." 

With  extreme  aptness  "Narses"  shied  at  a  rabbit  frolick- 
ing in  the  lush  grass,  and  indulged  in  a  series  of  risky 
gambades  that  afforded  Marguerite  an  opportunity  of 
strictly  attending  to  his  misdeeds. 

"A  dangerous  horse!  Didn't  I  say  so?  Why,  you  are 
quite  pale!"  scolded  Basil,  with  astounding  finesse,  as 
for  the  second  time  "Narses"  was  forced  back  to  his  post. 
"But  you  manage  him  very  cleverly,"  he  added.  "As 
I  was  saying,  I  will  be  absent  long." 

Marguerite  probably  did  not  judge  it  worth  her  while 
to  comment  upon  this  reiteration,  and  Basil,  looking 
straight  before  him,  went  on: 

"I  want  to  ask  you  whether  you  were  serious  when  you 
spoke  to  your  father  about  keeping  my — I  mean  Piotr — 
with  you  for  a  while." 

"I  endeavor  to  be  always  serious  when  dealing  with 
family  questions,  mon  cousin,"  she  replied. 

"Of  course  it  is  a  sacrifice  on  your  part,  and  it  will 
be  a, — what  shall  I  say? — an  intolerable  nuisance  for 

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MOONGLADE 

Re*gis;  but  there's  no  accounting  for  both  your  generosi- 
ties." 

Marguerite,  flicking  a  tiny  bramble  from  her  habit, 
shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Suppose  you  abandon  these  eloquent  sentences  for 
the  time  being?"  she  proposed.  "There's  nobody  under 
the  furniture — the  bushes,  I  mean — and  if  it  is  for  me  alone 
that  you  are  going  to  such  oratorical  expense,  I  will  ex- 
cuse plain  and  unadorned  speech." 

"What  ails  her?"  thought  Basil.  "I've  never  seen  her 
like  this!"  for  he  genuinely  did  not  understand.  "Very 
well  then,"  he  resumed.  "You  wish  to  keep  the  boy?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  simply. 

"Allowing  Garrassime  to  stay  near  him  and — forgive 
me — myself  to  defray  all  their  joint  expenses.  It  is  a 
matter  of  pride  with  me." 

"Of  all  the  ungracious  bundles  of  thorns  I  have  ever 
encountered — "  she  commenced,  but  he  would  not  let 
her  speak. 

"Permit  me,"  he  interrupted.  "I  do  not  mean  to  be 
ungracious — ungrateful — you  must  know  that !  I  am  so 
deeply  touched,  on  the  contrary,  by — "  His  voice  altered 
all  of  a  sudden,  and  Marguerite  felt  a  lump  rise  in  her 
throat. 

They  had  reached  what  is  called  there  an  &toile  des 
bois,  otherwise  a  wide  grassy  spot  where  five  roads  meet 
in  a  star-shaped  clearing,  and  Basil  jerked  "  The  Cid"  to 
a  stand. 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  he  said,  still  a  little  hoarsely, 
"we  could  dismount  and  sit  down  here  while  Ireland 
waters  the  beasts." 

For  answer  she  slipped  off  "Narses"  in  her  customary 
unexpected  way,  and  stood  by  his  head,  stroking  him;  the 
rascal  allowing  her  to  rub  his  velvet  nose  with  carefully 
disguised  contentment. 

Ireland  having  trotted  up  and  assumed  charge  of  the 


MOONGLADE 

horses — it  was  one  of  "Narses's"  peculiarities  that  he  was 
sometimes  approachable  by  a  dismounted  well-wisher, 
and,  moreover,  he  did  not  hate  Ireland  a  tenth  part  as 
much  as  he  did  his  own  grooms  and  stablemen — Basil 
and  Marguerite  were  at  liberty  to  seek  a  comfortable 
seat  on  a  fallen  tree-trunk. 

"I  wanted  to  say  this  to  you,  but  lacked  the  courage 
to  do  so,"  he  shamefacedly  admitted,  his  expression  quite 
changed.  "Also,  something  else,  if  you  will  only  have 
patience." 

As  years  before  on  the  brink  of  the  Castle  cliff  at  Plen- 
hoel,  Marguerite  sat  quite  motionless,  her  mere  profile 
visible,  listening  to  Basil  with  eyes  fixed  on  the  most 
distant  point  they  could  discern. 

"You  and  your  father  have  been  kinder  to  me  than 
any  one  else  in  the  world  since  my  mother  left  me — kind 
and  considerate  beyond  all  expression.  Now  you  want 
to  go  further  yet  and  take  off  my  hands  a  responsibility — 
a  cruel  responsibility — in  short,  one  that  is  almost  greater 
than  I  can  bear!"  He  paused,  and  Marguerite,  without 
turning  toward  him,  said,  quickly: 

"Why  do  you  say  a  cruel  responsibility?  You  used  to 
be  so  passionately  fond  of  Piotr.  Don't  you  care  for  him 
any  more?" 

A  flush  of  mortification  and  misery  rose  to  Basil's  face. 
He  had  not  seen  the  impasse  in  which  he  had  engaged 
himself,  and  for  a  few  seconds  he  could  not  think  what 
to  say. 

Surprised  at  his  silence,  Marguerite  made  a  slight  mo- 
tion and  glanced  at  him  interrogatively,  but  what  she  saw 
made  her  instantly  resume  her  former  position.  "Good 
Heavens!"  thought  she,  "what  is  it?" 

"Marguerite,"  Basil  painfully  recommenced,  "the  last 
few  years  have  not  been  happy  ones  to  me.  Mind  you, 
I  blame  no  one  but  myself.  I  alone  should  have  been 
called  to  account  for — the  lack  of  happiness  I  found  in  a 

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union  I  had  sought,  and  desired  at  the  time  above  all 
other  things." 

Again  he  paused,  wiped  the  moisture  from  his  forehead 
mechanically,  and  this  time  Marguerite  did  not  make 
use  of  the  pause;  but  a  faint  smile  of  incredulity,  which  it 
would  have  done  him  good  to  see  had  he  been  in  a  state 
to  notice  it,  flitted  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"Be  this  as  it  may,  the  fact  remains  that  I  have  been 
wretchedly  unhappy,  that  I  am  still  so  now,  by  centre- 
coup,  perhaps.  Much  has  happened  that  I  must  endeavor 
to  forget — not  for  my  own  welfare  alone,  mind  you — and 
this  I  cannot  attempt  if  Piotr  is  with  me.  I  mean  that 
for  that  reason  and  some  others  I  am  forced  to  exile  my- 
self anew.  It  is  useless  to  enter  into  particulars.  Later 
you  will  perhaps  understand  why;  now  I  cannot  tell  you. 
Will  you  trust  me  without  explanation?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  unhesitatingly. 

He  gave  a  deep  sigh  of  relief  and  thankfulness.  "You 
are  very — very  much  the  Chevalier  your  father  calls  you," 
he  said,  humbly,  "and  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart." 

"But,"  she  interrupted,  with  some  indignation,  "you 
have  not  answered  my  question.  Have  you  a  grudge 
against  poor  little  Piotr?  Yes  or  no." 

"A  grudge?"  Basil  repeated  after  her — "a  grudge 
against  Piotr?" 

"That's  what  I  asked." 

"No!  Emphatically  no!  How  could  I?  But — but 
he  reminds  me  of  his  mother,  and  that  can't  be  endured." 

"Was  that  the  reason  of  your  leaving  him  with  the  de 
Salvieres  when  you  went  to  China?" 

He  saw  the  pit  yawning  before  his  feet,  and  felt  too  dazed 
to  jump  back  from  the  brink. 

"No — that  is  ...  yes!  Oh,  I  don't  know,  Marguerite! 
Don't  ask  me!" 

"You  are  terribly  changed,  Basil,"  she  said,  sadly.  "I 
have  long  known — by  intuition,  for  I  was  never  told  so — 

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MOONGLADE 

that  your  marriage  had  been  an  unhappy  one;  but  for 
you,  a  man  like  you"  (the  tone  was  emphatic)  "to  make 
your  child  pay  for  this,  to  deprive  him  of  a  father's  love 
and  refuse  even  to  see  him  for  an  hour,  is  iniquitous.  I 
am  sorry  to  speak  so  rudely  to  you,  Basil,  but  I  cannot 
help  it." 

"You  are  not  rude,"  he  contradicted.  "What  you  say 
is  from  your  point  of  view  right  and  fair,  but — appear- 
ances are  against  me,  whether  justly  or  unjustly,  I  can't 
say.  God!  Do  you  think  that  I  have  not  fought  against 
that — feeling  which  estranges  me  from  Piotr?  I  have 
sweated  blood  and  water;  I  have  ..." 

With  sudden  alarm  Marguerite  swerved  toward  him 
and  with  one  small  hand  on  his  sleeve  stared  blankly  at 
him. 

"Are  you  crazy,  Basil,  to  talk  like  this?"  she  asked. 
"Estranged  from  your  own  flesh  and  blood,  your  own  lit- 
tle son,  the  dearest,  sweetest  little  chap  that  ever  was? 
Shame  on  you,  I  say,  for  letting  yourself  go  as  you  do, 
for  acting  in  a  hysterical  way  unworthy  of  even  the  weak- 
est woman!" 

Her  cheeks  pink,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  excitement, 
she  was  a  revelation  as  she  drew  back  from  him  in  down- 
right anger.  Never  had  he  imagined  her  to  be  capable 
of  such  a  transformation. 

"You  make  me  boil!"  she  went  on,  clenching  her  little 
fists.  "Don't  you  know  that  Piotr  adores  you?  That 
he  is  you,  your  very  image,  although  his  coloring  is  more 
like  his  mother's?  Oh,  Basil,  your  own  little  son!  How 
dare  you  think  of  making  him  responsible!  Why,  he  is 
you!  you!  you!" 

With  a  smothered  oath  Basil  leaped  to  his  feet,  white  as 
his  sporting-cravat. 

"What  makes  you  act  so?"  she  asked,  rising  quickly 
and  trying  to  confront  him;  but  he  turned  his  back  upon 
her  and  pushed  off  her  detaining  hand. 

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MOONGLADE 

"Have  you  gone  distracted?"  she  asked,  and  then 
stopped  appalled,  for  his  shoulders  were  shaking  sus- 
piciously. Trembling  like  a  leaf,  she  stepped  back  in 
positive  terror.  She  had  never  seen  a  man  cry,  and  it  is 
a  sorrowful  experience  indeed  when  the  man  is  a  man. 

" Basil, "  she  whispered.  "Basil !  Please !  Please  don't ! 
I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  you. .  .  .  Oh,  please  forgive  me, 
Basil!" 

Struggling  furiously  with  himself,  cursing  his  fool's 
behavior  with  all  the  might  of  his  being,  he  could  not  at 
first  wrest  the  mastery,  but  in  a  few  short  moments  he 
turned  toward  her,  and  in  an  almost  inaudible  voice 
begged  her  pardon. 

"My  pardon!"  she  tremulously  murmured.  "Mine? 
It  is  I  who  was  in  the  wrong  to  torment  you  as  I  did. 
You  know  best  what  to  do,  of  course.  No  doubt  you 
have  your  reasons — reasons  you  will  not  tell  me,  although 
I  think  you  should.  But  I  am  stupid — I  know  that — so 
don't  remember  what  I  said.  Leave  us  Piotr.  We  will 
look  after  him  well,  and  teach  him  how  to  love  you  more 
and  more  every  day,  so  that  when  you  come  home  at  last 
this  strange  feeling  of  yours  will  be  gone." 

There  was  something  so  delicately  childlike,  so  inno- 
cent and  so  crystal-pure  in  the  words,  that  Basil  felt 
tempted  to  kneel  down  in  worship  before  her.  What  call 
had  he  to  bring  so  near  to  her  his  thoughts  of  bitterness 
and  revolt,  his  conviction  that  the  child  he  was  ready 
enough  to  confide  to  her  bore  the  stain  of  antenatal  dis- 
honor? It  was  nothing  short  of  blasphemy,  of  desecra- 
tion, to  have  done  this.  And  in  his  heart  he  thanked 
Heaven  that,  however  imprudent  his  words  had  been,  she, 
being  what  she  was,  could  not  guess  what  they  portended. 

The  scene  had  been  short,  but  it  had  left  such  traces 
upon  both  that  when  they  slowly  returned  to  their  horses 
old  Ireland  almost  cried  out  at  the  sight  of  them.  He  was 
wise  in  his  generation,  though,  and  the  impassiveness  with 

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MOONGLADE 

which  he  regirthed  "  The  Cid,"  "  Narses,"  and  his  own 
mount,  would  have  done  credit  to  an  articulated  wooden 
image;  but  pounding  behind  them  along  the  sunken  forest 
road,  where  the  twelve  hoof -strokes  fell  hushedly  upon  the 
damp  turf,  he  sadly  reflected  upon  a  future  that  seemed 
somber  enough  for  his  beloved  young  mistress.  His 
shrewd  wits  had  been  alive  for  many  a  long  month  to  the 
trouble  that — as  far  as  he  knew — had  begun  for  Made- 
moiselle "Gamin"  at  the  time  of  that  other  ride  in  the 
woods  to  the  "  Rock  of  the  Seven  Sages  "  at  Plenhoel.  He 
had  wondered  vastly  at  Prince  Basil's  obtuseness  (saving 
his  presence),  marveled  over  the  aberration  of  taste  that 
had  caused  this  great  gentleman  to  prefer  Miss  Seton  to 
Marguerite;  and  ever  since,  during  their  now  countless 
excursions  over  field  and  moor,  forest  and  valley,  he  had 
watched  over  Le  Chevalier  "  Gamin  "  as  tenderly  and  piti- 
fully as  a  mother  might  have  done.  And  what  was  there 
amiss  again?  Surely  Prince  Basil  was  free  now,  and  the 
legal  formalities  over,  with  a  decorous  interval  added  there- 
to, he  could  lead  Mademoiselle  de  Plenhoel  to  the  altar? 
Why  those  tears,  then?  Why  the  agitation  and  distress 
he  had  not  been  able  to  avoid  noticing  from  his  post  be- 
neath the  trees  some  yards  away  ?  Was  there  more  misery 
coming  to  her?  No!  that  he  could  not  believe.  God  is 
just  and  kind — he  was  sure  of  that — and  could  not  but 
protect  this  little  angel  from  Paradise,  so  true,  so  loyal, 
and  so  faithful! 

On  the  morrow  it  was  he,  Ireland,  the  old  piqueux,  who 
sat  beside  His  Serene-Highness  in  a  dog-cart — by  Basil's 
own  request — to  go  to  the  station.  The  funereal  express- 
age  had  been  seen  to,  Laurence  was  making  her  last 
princely  progress  to  the  great  White  Empire  she  had 
so  absolutely  abhorred,  and  Tatiana  began  to  hope  that 
soon,  save  for  the  exquisitely  tended  spot  where  Preston 
Wynne  slept,  the  whole  grewsome  tragedy  would  be  for- 
gotten. 

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As  the  slate  roof  of  the  little  railway  station  became 
visible  through  the  trees  Basil  suddenly  turned  to  Ire- 
land. "I  don't  know  how  long  I  will  be  away,"  he  said, 
as  if  talking  to  an  equal  and  a  friend.  "You  know,  Ire- 
land, that  Piotr  is  going  to  stay  at  Plenhoel  with  the  Mar- 
quis and  Mademoiselle  during  my  absence." 

"I  do,  Highness." 

"Very  well.  You  will  probably  be  called  upon  to  act 
as  riding-master  to  him,  just  as  you  were  years  ago  to  the 
'Gamin.'" 

"I  hope  I  will,  Highness,"  said  Ireland,  happily. 

"This  being  so,  you  will  need  to  know  the  time  of  day 
to  a  minute.  With  a  wild  youngster  like  Piotr  it  will 
be  necessary,  I  am  certain." 

Ireland  permitted  himself  a  smile;  wondering,  though, 
why  each  time  that  the  Prince  pronounced  his  son's  name 
there  occurred  so  startling  a  hardening  of  his  voice. 

"Now,"  continued  Basil,  "this  is  a  reliable  time- 
keeper." He  passed  both  reins  into  his  right  hand,  and 
with  the  left  jerked  from  his  waistcoat  pocket  his  own 
chronometer  by  Juergeson — a  priceless  gem  of  its  kind — 
and  held  it  out,  chain  and  all,  to  the  astounded  man  beside 
him. 

"Oh,  but— but  Your  Highness!  This  is  Your  High- 
ness's  own  watch — there's  a  crown  on  it!" 

'I  know,"  Basil  smiled.  "It  is  not  meant  to  be  a  tip, 
Ireland;  merely  a  souvenir  from  one  horseman  to  an- 
other." 

The  fast  trotter  in  the  shafts  was  just  rounding  the 
angle  of  the  station  yard.  Basil  gave  the  reins  to  Ireland 
and  jumped  out.  Far  down  the  line  the  shrill  whistle  of 
the  express  was  cutting  the  breeze  like  an  arrow. 

"Good-bye,  Ireland,"  Basil  said,  leaning  across  to  shake 
hands,  and  suddenly  Ireland,  recovering  from  his  joyful 
surprise,  saw  that  the  Prince's  eyes  were  moist. 

"Good-bye  .  .  .  and  take  care  of  her!" 

3" 


MOONGLADE 

He  was  gone  inside  the  little  building,  all  alone  like 
the  most  ordinary  of  the  mortals.  A  minute  later  the 
piqueux,  through  the  row  of  oak-trees  that  stood  be- 
tween, glimpsed  his  tall  figure  passing  down  the  plat- 
form; then  the  train  breathed  itself  to  a  second's  stop  at 
the  waving  of  the  flag,  Basil  stepped  to  the  marche-pied 
of  a  Pullman,  and  with  a  last  wave  to  him  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

Moonglade,  a  pale  and  forthright  splendor,  deeping 
The  mountain  shadows  on  the  river-flow, 
Across  the  sullen  flood's  resistless  creeping — 
Across  the  years,  the  wreckage  and  the  weeping, 

You  stand,  so  let  them  go! 

Moonglade,  O  Moonglade,  that  my  heart  doth  fill, 
Causeway  to  Avalon  unchanging  still, 

I  know,  that  pass  by  thee, 
The  "bowery  hollows,  crowned  with  summer  sea!" 

A  YEAR  later  the  "Gamin"  and  Piotr  were  returning 
from  a  delightful  prawn-fishing  expedition  in  the  deep 
rock  pools  that  offer  at  low  tide,  especially  on  granite 
shores  such  as  those  of  Plenhoel,  miraculous  chances  for 
that  kind  of  sport.  Haveneaux  on  shoulder,  they  stepped 
briskly  along  the  cliff  path,  she  looking  like  a  little  girl 
in  her  short  striped  petticoat  and  tricot  made  and  worn  a 
la  maniere  des  marins,  her  red  beret  and  rope-soled  6spa- 
drilles;  he  enormously  tall  and  strong  for  his  age,  browned 
by  salt  water  and  salt  breezes  to  a  very  becoming  brown- 
ness.  Behind  them  Garrassime — who  seemed  to  have 
stopped  getting  old  during  the  past  twelve  months — and 
Madame  Hortense,  always  placid  and  comely,  carried 
between  them  a  great  square  basket  fragrant  of  brine  and 
seaweed,  that  was  quite  full  of  big,  frisky  bouquins. 

"We've  got  a  lot!"  Piotr  remarked,  gleefully.  "And 
all  of  them  as  long  as  my  hand,  aren't  they,  little  darling 
Malou?" 

"Oh,  every  bit,"  laughed  Marguerite.  "I'm  not  going 
to  argue,  Piotr." 

21  i 


MOONGLADE 

"But  you  don't  seem  convinced!" 

"  Not  convinced !  You  do  me  an  injustice,  young  man !" 
remonstrated  Marguerite. 

"We  can  eat  them  for  the  second  breakfast,  can't  we?" 

"Not  can;  must!"  she  corrected,  gravely.  "They're 
good  only  when  fresh  off  the  farm,  you  know,  Mous- 
saillon" 

"I  like  it  when  you  call  me  Moussaillon,  little  darling 
Malou,"  the  boy  said,  proudly.  "Don't  you  think  I 
am  a  wonderful  sailor  already?  And  as  to  swimming 
and  fishing!"  He  smacked  his  rosy  lips  ecstatically, 
glancing  up  at  her  for  confirmation  of  these  tall  words. 

"A  wonderful  sailor — a  swimmer  of  extraordinary 
power — and  as  to  a  fisherman!"  she  mimicked,  her  lovely 
face  crinkling  into  a  grimace  that  well  suited  her  name  of 
"Gamin." 

"You're  laughing  at  me!  But  I  handle  the  avirons  al- 
most as  well  as  Boustifaille.  You  know  I  do." 

"  Boustifaille  "  was  Piotr's  canot  boy,  a  wide-awake  lad 
of  fourteen,  who  was  to  ship  next  May  on  a  "  Banker," 
and  Marguerite  smiled  at  the  boastfulness  of  Master  Piotr; 
although,  to  do  him  justice,  the  child  was  a  born  seaman, 
fearless  as  a  porpoise,  and  inclined  to  be  utterly  reckless  of 
any  danger. 

For  these  particular  traits  she  knew  herself  to  be  re- 
sponsible. She  had  been  and  was  his  constant  companion 
and  instructor  in  the  arts  of  natation,  rowing,  sailing,  and 
fishing,  and  never  tired  of  encouraging  him  to  display 
further  prowess.  The  life  of  Piotr  at  Plenhoel  was  ideal, 
between  "Antinous,"  who  had  come  to  love  the  boy  al- 
most as  if  he  were  his  own,  and  Marguerite,  his  best  and 
most  devoted  comrade.  In  return,  nothing  could  be 
more  touching  than  Piotr's  fealty  to  his  lady.  There 
were  times,  it  is  true — during  his  less  and  less  frequent 
fits  of  rage  —  when  even  she  could  not  manage  him. 
But  usually  for  a  mere  touch  of  her  hand,  a  slightly 


MOONGLADE 

sterner  glance  from  her  blue  eyes,  he  really  tried  to  calm 
himself — with  more  or  less  success,  it  is  true,  but  still  with 
extraordinary  determination  for  one  so  young. 

The  chief  difficulty  with  him  was  to  conquer  his  eVer- 
present  jealousy.  Perhaps  Laurence  had  only  partly  as- 
sumed the  r61e  of  a  jealous  woman.  Probably  she  was 
really  inclined  that  way,  and  had  needed  only  a  trifling 
exaggeration  to  serve  her  purpose,  for  her  son  was,  un- 
fortunately for  him  and  for  others,  abnormally  provided 
with  that  sad  faculty  for  making  every  being  dear  to  one 
entirely  miserable.  Let  Marguerite  display  the  least  bit 
of  enthusiasm,  or  flattering  appreciation,  toward  anyone, 
a  puppy-dog  even,  and  Piotr  would  be  at  once  convulsed 
with  fury.  He  did  not  sulk;  he  stormed  whole-souledly; 
he  threw  himself  on  the  ground  and  he  rolled  over  and 
over,  shrieking  aloud,  beating  his  head  on  the  floor,  tearing 
his  hair,  actually  foaming  at  the  mouth;  and  so  painful 
were  these  outbreaks  that  they  were  considered  at  Plen- 
hoel  as  visitations  to  be  avoided  by  every  possible  means. 

"  If  he  were  mine,"  the  village  doctor,  a  retired  surgeon- 
major  of  the  navy,  often  said,  "  I'd  make  him  acquainted 
with  a  rope's  end,  and  that  without  delay.  Is  it  possible 
to  see  a  youngster  get  himself  into  such  states  and  remain 
neutral?  Only  mademoiselle  is  capable  of  it,  but  she's 
an  angel  of  God.  Besides,  she'd  crawl  through  a  knot- 
hole to  please  him." 

Perchance  the  doctor  was  right,  perhaps  he  was  wrong, 
in  his  particular  choice  of  a  remedy,  but,  be  it  as  it  may, 
Marguerite  would  not  hear  of  drastic  measures ;  in  which 
opinion  her  father  bore  her  out,  for,  as  he  sagely  remarked, 
with  such  an  organization  it  was  impossible  to  know  what 
brute  force  might  produce. 

In  spite  of  these  two  wretched  blemishes,  Piotr  was 
the  most  fascinating  boy  one  could  imagine,  and  Plen- 
hoel  paid  him  homage  as  to  a  beloved  Dauphin.  Ireland, 
Monsieur  Quentin,  Francois,  Madame  Hortense,  the 


MOONGLADE 

coachmen,  gardeners,  stablemen,  chefs,  footmen,  grooms, 
the  aged  housekeeper,  the  maids,  not  to  mention  the 
farmers,  villagers,  and  salt-workers,  were  his  willing  sub- 
jects. As  to  the  crews  of  the  yacht  and  sailing-boats, 
they  raised  him  to  the  throne  of  a  little  sea-god,  pure 
and  simple. 

Warm-hearted,  hot-headed,  plucky  as  they  make  'em, 
and  generous  to  a  fault,  this  was  Piotr.  Also  he  had  the 
religion  of  remembrance — a  rare  gift — and  not  a  day  passed 
without  his  speaking  of  his  father.  He  was  handsome, 
too,  to  a  surprising,  an  alarming  degree;  with  features 
too  classically  perfect  for  a  lad  of  his  years,  and  magnetic 
eyes,  changeful  in  shape  and  hue  with  every  new  ex- 
pression 

"Quand  il  aura  mngt  ans  iljaudra  enfermer  les  poulettes, 
par  exemple!"  the  doctor  was  quoted  as  declaring  on  re- 
peated occasions,  and  this  seemed  like  prophetic  talk. 

Basil  wrote  almost  regularly  to  Re"gis,  "from  China  or 
India,  Mars  or  the  Moon,"  as  the  Marquis  was  wont  to 
vaguely  explain,  and  Marguerite  helped  Piotr  pencil  a 
couple  of  lines  to  accompany  every  one  of  her  father's 
replies  to  each  of  those  erratic  missives. 

My  dear,  dear  Papa.    When  are  you  coming  back? 
I  am  very  big  now.    I  love  you. 

PIOTR. 

he  had  written  the  evening  before  the  prawn-fishing,  but, 
as  he  impatiently  declared,  "I  never  get  a  letter  from 
him,  little  darling  Malou!" 

Marguerite  cruelly  felt  this  persistent  neglect  of  Piotr. 
She  invented  messages  with  untiring  assiduity,  but  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  "Mes  remerciements  emus  a  ma  cousine 
Marguerite"  was  the  only  allusion  ever  made  by  Basil  to 
Piotr's  existence. 

The  de  SalvieTes  were  in  Russia,  looking  after  both  their 
own  estates  and  Basil's;  Pavlo  was  now  a  first-lieutenant 

316 


MOONGLADE 

of  great  promise;  the  peasants  of  Tverna,  trotting  easily 
in  firm  but  light  harness,  exploded  no  longer.  As  Tatiana 
once  had  told  Preston  Wynne,  "Tout  est  pour  le  mieux 
dans  $e  meilleur  des  mondes" 

It  was  then  that  a  cloud  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand 
began  to  float  imperceptibly  upward  toward  the  coast  of 
Brittany  from  the  blunt  apex  of  South  Africa,  where  Basil 
had  been  sojourning  for  a  while,  as  a  letter  bore  witness: 

I  am  heartily  tired  of  wandering  [he  wrote  confidentially  to 
Re"gis].  Weary  of  visiting  place  after  place  which  holds  no  interest 
for  me,  and  yet  I  cannot  make  up  my  mind  to  settle  down  again, 
either  in  France  or  in  Russia.  There  seems  nothing  for  me  to 
do  in  either — or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  anywhere  else  in  the  world, 
alas!  Duties  I  have  none  left — or  if  I  have,  disgust  obstructs 
my  view,  and  I  do  not  see  them.  As  soon  as  Piotr  is  old  enough 
to  be  put  in  a  military  academy  I  will  know  better  what  to  do. 
I  had  a  nice  surprise  some  time  ago!  Imagine  that  among  the 
effects  and  personal  possessions  left  in  the  Paris  house  by  the 
lady  who  bore  my  name,  and  which  I  had  caused  to  be  packed 
and  stowed  away  under  the  supervision  of  Stepan-Stepanovitch, 
my  agent,  he  found  a  writing-map  I  had  once  given  her — a  very 
splendid  affair  of  Tula -work  and  turquoises.  Well,  over- 
stepping my  orders,  he  made  an  exhaustive  examination  of 
this  object,  read  with  a  looking-glass  from  the  reversed 
writing  printed  and  on  the  blotting-paper  inside,  more  con- 
vincing proofs  yet  of  her  guilty  conduct  with  the  young 
English  captain  I  had  the  misfortune  to  despatch  from  this 
world  —  God  knows  his  life  was  too  dear  a  price  to  pay 
for  her  love — and  also  traces  of  equally  enlightening  letters 
written  to  that  poor  chap  who  gave  me  satisfaction  in  a  way — 
Heaven  is  my  witness — I  will  mourn  for  a  long  time  to  come. 
I  would  much  rather  that  Stepan  had  let  bad  enough  alone.  It 
is  hard  as  it  is  to  try  and  forget  a  little  of  all  this — if  not  to  for- 
give it.  But  now  to  come  to  the  real  point  of  my  letter:  Do 
you  think  I  could  venture  to  come  and  spend  a  few  days  near 
you?  Not  at  Plenhoel,  for  I  cannot — no,  I  cannot  see  Piotr 
just  yet — but  in  the  neighborhood,  so  as  to  be  enabled  to  see 
you  and  discuss  matters  with  you.  I  am  thinking  of  starting 

317 


MOONGLADE 

for  Canada,  or  perhaps  Mexico,  afterward;  I  don't  know  which, 
nor  do  I  much  care!  One  thing  is  certain:  I  will  not  go  to  the 
States,  and  be  looked  upon  from  the  moment  of  landing  as  a 
conspirator,  a  fugitive  from  justice,  a  mendicant  in  gilded  guise, 
or  a  wretched  fortune-hunter.  I  don't  blame  the  people  over 
there  for  seeing  an  intriguer  and  a  scoundrel  under  every  coronet 
that  submits  itself  to  their  criticism — perhaps  they  should  not 
receive  them  either  enthusiastically  or  cringingly;  not,  at  all 
events,  before  they  have  made  a  few  inquiries  as  to  their  wearer's 
particular  brand  of  indignity — for,  when  one  comes  to  think  of 
the  needy  and  abject  individuals  who  are  continually  "crossing 
the  Pond,"  as  the  English  say,  to  offer  to  the  highest  female 
bidder  imitation  names,  bogus  titles,  or  genuine  ones  so  tar- 
nished as  to  have  become  unrecognizable,  how  can  one  feel  sur- 
prise at  the  variegated  denunciations  which  transatlantic  in- 
vaders of  our  shores  indulge  in?  Forgive  this  vacuous  and  inter- 
minable missive.  I  am  alone,  sad,  bad-tempered,  and  altogether 
uninhabitable.  Indeed,  it  would  have  been  far  simpler  for  me 
to  tell  you  at  the  outset,  like  a  man,  that  I  am  yearning  for  a 
home — anybody's,  since  my  own  is  destroyed,  and  sign  myself, 
Your  affectionate 

BASIL. 

Regis  had  not  hesitated  an  instant.  To  his  practical 
sense — he  had  a  good  deal  of  that,  and  very  well  developed 
— it  appeared  only  too  clearly  that,  unless  something  rather 
drastic  was  done,  Basil  would  gradually  let  himself  drift 
into  positive  melancholia,  and  his  warm  heart  revolted 
at  the  thought ;  so  without  losing  a  minute,  he  had  written 
and  cabled  to  his  cousin  to  come  at  once;  ridiculed  his  dis- 
taste for  seeing  Piotr,  whom  he  described  as  a  most  de- 
licious boy  and  a  true  Palitzin;  accused  Basil  squarely  and 
fairly  of  giving  way  too  much  to  his  morbid  feelings;  and 
had,  indeed,  made  such  good  use  of  an  eloquence  he  rarely 
lacked  when  both  his  brain  and  his  heart  were  in  accord, 
that  a  cable  from  Gibraltar  had  finally  announced  to  him 
the  arrival  of  Basil  in  a  few  days. 

"We  will  cure  him,  mon  Chevalier"  "Antinous"  said  to 


MOONGLADE 

his  daughter  when  announcing  the  news  to  her.  "These 
fancies  of  his  are  simply  absurd — there's  no  other  word 
for  it." 

Marguerite  looked  her  father  suddenly  straight  in  the 
eyes.  She  was  sitting  on  the  window-sill  of  his  study, 
while  he  stood,  a  cigarette  between  his  teeth,  both  hands 
stuck  deep  in  his  jacket  pockets,  looking  out  at  the  glanc- 
ing fountain  with  its  quaint  presentations  of  kneeling 
monks  and  curious,  unnatural  stone  birds  —  a  master- 
piece from  the  same  chisel  as  had  carved  the  unique 
doorway  of  the  Castle  chapel. 

"Papa,"  said  the  "Gamin,"  gravely,  "you  don't  be- 
lieve it,  I  know,  but  I  am  no  longer  a  little  girl.  Don't 
you  think  you  could  tell  me  why  Basil  has  ceased  to  care 
for  Piotr?  There  is  some  reason  for  it,  some  very  serious 
reason,  for  he  is  the  last  man  on  earth  one  could  accuse 
of  caprice — a  feminine  defect,  besides!  Why  can't  you 
tell  me  what  makes  him  feel  as  he  does?" 

Re"gis  did  not  answer  at  once.  He  had  long  been  in 
the  habit  of  treating  Marguerite  as  a  very  precious  com- 
panion and  counselor;  moreover,  she  was  right  in  saying 
that  she  was  no  longer  a  little  girl,  for  in  her  country  and 
in  her  world  girls  not  yet  married  at  eighteen,  even,  are 
supposed  to  be  determined  to  remain  old  maids.  Still, 
it  was  utterly  impossible  to  so  much  as  hint  at  the  truth, 
and  he  decided  to  seek  an  acceptable  alternative. 

"What  makes  you  so  sure  that  Basil  has  really  ceased 
to  care  for  his  son?"  he  asked,  throwing  away  his  cigarette 
end  to  light  a  fresh  one. 

"What  he  himself  told  me,"  she  replied,  unhesitatingly. 
"Also,  his  impossible  attitude  toward  Piotr.  Now,  Papa, 
you  and  I  realize  that  he  is  not  doing  this  idly — pour  se 
donner  des  airs" 

"No,  certainly  not!"  admitted  Re"gis,  still  looking  at 
the  marvelous  procession  of  hooded  and  unhooded  monks 
mirrored  in  the  limpid  water  of  the  fountain.  "But 

3J9 


MOONGLADE 

you  must  not  forget  that  Basil  had  a  terrible  shock, 
that—" 

Marguerite  here  firmly  interrupted  him.  "If  you  are 
going  to  tergiversate,  my  dear  Papa/'  she  said,  quietly, 
"we  may  as  well  drop  the  subject  once  and  for  all.  I'd 
a  great  deal  sooner  you'd  tell  me  to  mind  my  own  busi- 
ness, or,  in  other  words,  that  I  am  poaching  on  land  where 
I  have  no  right  to  intrude.  At  least  it  would  show  me  a 
straight  road  out." 

"Mon  Chevalier,"  Regis  retorted,  "you  and  I  have 
managed  to  be  far  more  than  father  and  daughter  to  each 
other,  as  this  closest  of  relationships  is  generally  under- 
stood. We  have  been  friends  and  equals  right  through. 
You  are — I  don't  want  to  throw  bouquets  at  you — but 
you  really  are  the  most  perfect  gentleman  I  have  ever  had 
the  fortune  to  encounter,  and  in  all  questions  of  honor 
there  is  no  one  I  would  rather  consult  than  you.  But  you 
are  at  the  same  time  my  beloved  little  daughter  and  a 
pearl  of  extreme  purity;  therefore  I  do  tell  you,  in  all 
amity,  not  to  ask  me  that  question  again.  As  far  as  I 
know,  moreover,  Basil's  only  reason  for  the  coldness  he 
displays  toward  Piotr — and  that  undeniably  exists — is 
that  the  child  reminds  him  of  Laurence,  and  of  the  sor- 
rows Laurence  brought  into  his  life.  He  is  one  of  those 
persons  who,  owing  to  a  singularly  uncompromising  nature, 
are  apt  to  burn  fiercely  what  they  once  adored,  and  vice 
versa.  I  am  convinced,  however,  that,  were  the  proper 
influence  exerted,  he  could  be  won  over  to  saner  and  fairer 
sentiments.  Hadn't  you  better  try  to  do  that  yourself?" 

Marguerite  flushed,  but  her  eyes  did  not  waver  from  her 
father's. 

"You  are  the  only  person  who  can,"  he  emphasized. 

"Frankly,  Papa,  if  you  don't  mind  my  saying  it,  I  have 
no  more  influence  on  Basil  than  Garrassime  has." 

"And  to  think  that  she  sincerely  believes  that!"  R£gis 
mused,  gazing  at  the  "Gamin"  in  her  dark-gray  riding- 

320 


MOONGLADE 

habit,  slim  and  young,  and  good  to  look  at  beyond  com- 
pare. ' '  My  own  little  girl !"  he  thought,  tenderly.  ' '  How 
I  wish  she  could  be  happy.  And  to  think  that  that  fool  of 
a  Basil  considers  himself  too  smirched  and  dishonored  jiow 
to  ever  ask  her  to  be  his  wife!"  Aloud  he  said,  simply: 
"You  are  entirely  mistaken,  Chevalier.  You  have  lived 
a  life  far  more  protected  and  sheltered  than  most  modern 
girls,  even  when  they  have  been  strictly  brought  up. 
What  you  know  of  men  is  represented  by  myself,  Jean  de 
Salvieres,  and  some  other  relatives  of  the  same  stamp.  We 
all  and  sundry  are  not  a  bad  sort,  and  have  the  breeding 
to  show  our  best  side  to  our  women.  Tatiana  and  the 
other  few  feminine  personalities  you  come  in  contact 
with,  including  that  excellent  creature  Hortense,  are  hors 
concours;  delightful  as  far  as  perfection  can  go,  and  the 
only  bad  un  you  ever  met  was  that  misguided  being, 
Laurence." 

"Oh,  Papa,  remember!"  Marguerite  pleaded,  much  dis- 
tressed. 

"  I  remember,  my  dear,  never  fear!  Nor  am  I  especial- 
ly harsh  in  mentioning  the  fact  that  Laurence  was  a  very 
evil  woman.  God  knows  she  was.  Basil  made  a  fright- 
ful mistake  when  he  married  her,  and  has  lived  to  regret 
it.  He  is  sore  now;  embittered;  rejoule  sur  lui  mdme; 
restive  to  any  interference  coming  from  his  people,  from 
me,  from  his  best  and  most  intimate  friends.  But  you 
are  different !  I  am  not  speaking  from  undue  pride  in  you, 
or  because  you  can  always  lead  me  by  one  thread  of  your 
silken  hair,  so  don't  shake  your  head.  You  have  to  a 
supreme  degree  the  cavata  necessary  to  wield  power  of  the 
only  kind  that  will  work  with  him — and  bear  in  mind  that 
the  warmest  corner  of  his  heart  has  always  been  yours." 

Marguerite  rose.  "  I  don't  believe  that !"  she  said,  with 
utter  frankness.  "At  least  I  never  saw  any  sign  of  such 
a  thing,  Papa." 

"That  again  is  due  to  your  inexperience.  Basil  is 

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MOONGLADE 

naturally  cold,  distant,  and  self-contained — wooden,  if  you 
like — and  a  bit  introspective.  He  is  also,  funny  as  it 
may  seem  to  you,  a  shy  man.  Believe  me,  Chevalier,  I  am 
anxious  to  see  the  ice  wall  that  surrounds  him — how  poet- 
ically I  do  speak! — broken  through.  He  has  suffered 
quite  enough  already.  You,  I  am  absolutely  certain,  can 
humanize  him  again.  Now  will  you,  or  will  you  not,  do 
your  little  best?  Answer  me!" 

Marguerite  had  an  unbounded  confidence  in  her  father. 
She  saw  that  he  was  very  much  in  earnest — &  rare  thing 
with  him,  who  to  all  intents  and  purposes  generally  toyed 
with  life's  difficulties;  and  her  surrender  was  quick. 

"You  really,  genuinely,  think  that  I  can  do  something 
to  help?"  she  asked.  "You  really  believe  that  Basil  is 
in  danger?" 

"I  answer  yes  on  both  counts,  unhesitatingly,"  Re*gis 
declared.  "Basil  is  in  a  bad  way,  which  is  a  thousand 
pities,  for  he  is  the  finest  man  I  know;  also  I  stick  by  what 
I  said — you  alone,  my  little  witch,  can  make  him  hear 
reason.  I  have  spoken!" 

Later  on,  when  le  Chevalier  "Gamin"  was  alone  in  her 
own  apartments  that  overlooked  the  ocean  on  two  sides, 
she  sat  for  a  long  while  by  a  window  staring  at  the  waves. 
She  was  firmly  convinced  that  the  secret  she  had  so  well 
kept  with  regard  to  her  personal  feelings  was  still  her  only 
own;  Basil  could  and  would  never  be  anything  else  to 
her  but  a  dear  and  devoted  friend.  He — she  felt  certain, 
too — had  given  all  the  love  he  had  in  his  power  to  give  to 
Laurence.  Her  ingratitude,  her  hardness  of  heart,  her 
lack  of  sympathy  with  any  and  every  plan  of  his,  had 
caused  him  a  pain  and  a  disappointment  from  which  he 
would  never  recover.  She  was  forced  to  conclude  that 
on  this  point  he  showed  himself  singularly  unforgiving, 
not  to  say  unjust,  since  he  carried  his  rancor  to  the  limit 
of  the  impossible  by  his  disaffection  toward  his  son  and 
hers.  Excuses!  She  found  them  for  him  in  what  her 

322 


MOONGLADE 

father  had  told  her  an  hour  before,  and  it  was  a  relief  in 
a  way.  Basil  was  not  himself;  he  was  alone;  the  shock 
had  been  too  severe  even  for  his  iron  organization.  Well 
then,  why  not  do  what  she  was  asked?  Why  not  try,  at 
least?  Perhaps  she  would  succeed.  .  .  ..  Who  could  tell? 
And  if  she  could  bring  father  and  son  together  again, 
what  unspeakable  joy  that  would  be! 

With  a  little  sigh  of  anticipation,  half  dread  and  half 
hope,  she  got  out  of  her  chair  and,  opening  the  window, 
stepped  upon  the  balcony.  The  evening  was  all  gray  and 
silver,  streaked  with  rose  where  the  sun  had  just  dis- 
appeared. The  mews  were  hurrying  home  to  their  rock- 
nests  in  the  cliff ,  skimming  over  the  surface  of  the  spangled 
sea,  winging  their  way  athwart  the  salt-marshes  on 
the  right,  where  the  tent-like  heaps  of  salt  gleamed 
whitely,  and  the  shallow  waters — cross-barred  by  thin 
banks  of  clay — were  now  squares  of  pink  crystal,  leaded 
into  a  broad  prostrate  window  of  afterglow.  A  little  sail  of 
surprising  whiteness  and  daintiness  punctuated  the  offing 
with  its  swallow-winged  silhouette,  and  on  the  horizon 
a  clear-cut  band  of  incredible  apple-green  lay  along  the 
sky.  It  seemed  as  if  it  would  have  been  soft  to  the  touch 
— a  length  of  pure  velvet,  the  color  of  Hope. 

"Oh,  Basil!"  Marguerite  gently  called.  "You  will 
listen,  won't  you?"  Her  white  arms  outstretched  to  the 
immensity  opening  before  her,  she  suddenly  gave  a  little 
laugh  of  triumph.  "He  will!"  she  thought.  "I  know 
he  will  now !  I  mean  to  try  so  well !" 

Strong  in  her  resolution,  Marguerite  went  about  her 
hundred  and  one  duties  during  the  following  week  with 
a  quaint  little  conquering  air  that  made  Re'gis's  eyes  fol- 
low her  amusedly,  and  a  little  wistfully,  too.  Could  he 
ever  resign  himself  to  give  her  up,  even  partly,  even  to 
Basil?  He  had  reflected  over  the  matter  in  the  deeps 
of  his  heart,  and  well  did  he  know  that  this  queer  little 
Chevalier  of  his  would  go  bravely  through  life  alone,  un- 

323 


MOONGLADE 

wed,  yearning  assuredly  for  a  home  and  children  of  her 
own,  but  cheerful  always,  and  uncomplaining.  So  much 
beauty  and  love  wasted  on  him,  "Antinous" — an  aging 
"  Antinous"  in  spite  of  his  youthful  looks — since  this  very 
morning  he  had -found  one  silver  thread  among  the  gold 
above  his  temple.  What  an  everlasting  and  beastly  pity 
that  would  be!  Basil  was  only  a  very  little  his  junior; 
but  since  she  liked  him  so — and  that  he  never  doubted 
for  an  instant.  Well,  parents  had  to  make  sacrifices, 
sometimes  much  more  bitter  than  this — if  it  ever  came 
to  pass — and  Heaven  knew  it  would  be  bitter  enough. 
Still,  he  knew  that  the  "Gamin"  would  always  be  his, 
and  that  she  would  suffer  no  permanent  separation  from 
him,  which  was  an  immense  consolation. 

Thus  devised  Re"gis,  riding  home  from  a  horse-fair  in 
the  dim  neighborhood — dim  in  two  ways,  for  in  Brittany 
distances  over  waste  places  are  great,  and,  moreover,  night 
was  falling  rapidly. 

Indeed,  the  moon  was  already  shining  hazily  when  he 
dismounted.  Marguerite  was,  as  always,  standing  on  the 
broad  shallow  perron  waiting  for  him,  and  he  waved  his 
hand  to  her  with  a  positively  lover-like  gesture  as  he  gave 
his  horse  to  the  groom.  But  whose  was  the  tall,  dark 
silhouette  towering  behind  her? 

With  a  view-halloo  of  astounding  fervor  Re*gis  sprang 
up  the  steps,  and  in  another  instant  he  was  pounding 
Basil  most  heartily  on  the  back. 

"Welcome!  and  welcome!  and  a  thousand  welcomes! 
old  fellow!"  he  cried,  beaming  with  pleasure.  "That's 
right.  When  did  you  come?" 

"Half  an  hour  ago,  and  Marguerite  has  spent  every 
second  of  it  assuring  me  that  I  have  not  aged.  What  do 
you  think  of  your  daughter's  veracity  now?" 

"The  highest  possible  thinks!"  Re"gis  cried,  whirling 
his  cousin  around.  "Let's  look  at  you  here  under  the 
luster!  Why,  you're  more  bronzed  and  more  soldierly, 

324 


MOONGLADE 

that's  all  I  can  discover.  A  fine  figure  of  a  man,  as  Quen- 
tin  once  said  when  I  showed  him  the  famous  statue  of 
Roland  I  had  just  brought  home  from  Paris." 

They  laughed,  all  three,  quite  immoderately  at  this 
exuberant  joke,  and  walked  into  the  dining-room  arm  in 
arm,  the  "Gamin"  in  the  middle,  as  befitted  her  smaller 
size.  The  evening  that  followed  was  an  enchanting  one. 
Where  was  Basil's  melancholy?  The  two  others  had  not 
even  leisure  to  ask  themselves  that;  and  as  to  him,  he 
had  so  much  to  tell  about  his  peregrinations  half  around 
the  globe  and  back  again,  so  much  to  listen  to  as  told  by 
them,  that  in  the  excitement  of  recital  he  forgot  his  woes 
for  the  first  time  in  months  and  months. 

Midnight  had  long  chimed  solemnly  from  the  Castle 
clock  when  they  at  last  left  the  library  where  they  had 
spent  the  veiltte,  and  marched  side  by  side  down  the  im- 
mense second-floor  gallery  upon  which  all  the  bedrooms 
opened.  Basil  and  Re"gis  took  Marguerite  to  her  door, 
and  were  about  to  say  good-night,  when  she  suddenly 
swerved  to  the  right  and,  noiselessly  opening  another, 
beckoned  them  to  follow,  one  finger  on  her  lips  command- 
ing silence.  Re*gis  understood,  and  fell  back  to  let  Basil 
pass,  while  he,  thinking  of  some  joke  to  be  perpetrated 
upon  him,  obeyed,  on  tiptoe,  assuming  a  portentous 
mien. 

Immediately  behind  Marguerite  he  entered  a  room  of 
truly  enormous  dimensions,  high-ceiled,  and  hung  with 
gay  cretonne,  upon  which,  as  far  as  he  could  see,  fairy-like 
birds  disported  themselves  around  dream-flowers.  The 
furniture  was  all  of  white  lacquer,  and  the  thick  carpet 
underfoot  of  similar  snowiness,  with  here  and  there  an 
ice-bear  skin  flung  across  its  stainless  surface.  A  tall 
screen  of  carven  wood  was  curved  before  the  cretonne- 
curtained  windows,  and  to  this  recess  Marguerite  led  the 
way,  still  on  the  points  of  her  slippers.  The  rosy  globe 
hanging  from  the  ceiling  did  not  give  very  much  light, 

325 


MOONGLADE 

but  quite  sufficient  to  bring  Basil  suddenly  to  a  stop, 
for  there,  on  a  narrow  brass  bed,  the  silken  coverings 
thrown  back  from  his  sturdy  little  form,  lay,  fast  asleep, 
the  handsomest  boy  it  was  possible  to  see.  The  shapely, 
strong  limbs,  the  tanned,  slightly  flushed  cheeks,  the  soft 
curling  hair  and  thickly  fringed  eyelids,  made  a  picture 
vigorous  and  beautiful,  to  which  Marguerite,  her  fingers 
on  Basil's  sleeve,  pointed  proudly. 

"Behold  your  son!"  she  murmured,  laughingly;  and 
Basil  suddenly  shivered  from  head  to  foot. 

"Your  son!"  she  repeated,  in  a  fragrant  whisper,  lean- 
ing closer  to  him.  "Your  son,  and  your  second  self. 
Look!" 

Above  the  bed  hung  a  portrait  of  Basil  when  yet\  lad, 
and  given  to  Re*gis's  mother  at  the  time.  The  diffused 
glow  from  the  night-lamp  somehow  seemed  to  concen- 
trate upon  the  lifelike  painting  before  which  it  was  hung, 
and  it  would  have  taken  a  purposely  obtuse  eye  not  to 
be  struck  by  the  amazing  resemblance  between  it  and  the 
little  sleeper  beneath.  In  her  innocent  endeavor  to  re- 
conquer Basil's  love  for  Piotr,  Marguerite  could  not  have 
designed  a  more  Machiavelian  plan.  "Aux  innocents  les 
mains  pleines,"  says  the  old  proverb,  and  who  can  call 
it  untrue? 

Without  a  word  Basil  was  staring,  first  at  the  picture, 
then  at  the  living,  breathing  miniature  thereof  on  the  pil- 
low; and  Marguerite,  watching  him  with  all  the  intent- 
ness  of  her  blue  eyes,  saw  the  rigid  features  slowly  relax, 
soften,  hesitate  as  it  were  in  their  expression  of  dawning 
ecstasy. 

"What  is  it?"  she  breathed  faintly,  more  to  herself 
than  to  him. 

Big  drops  of  sweat  were  trickling  down  Basil's  ashen 
face,  and  she  leaned  toward  him,  her  heart  literally  in  her 
mouth.  What  had  she  done?  she  asked  herself  in  ter- 
ror. And  then  a  stranger  thing  yet  happened;  for  Piotr, 

326 


MOONGLADE 

as  if  touched  by  some  magnetic  ray,  opened  wide  his 
eyes,  and  with  a  cry  of  delight,  one  agile  boyish  bound, 
launched  himself  like  an  arrow  into  his  father's  arms. 

"Papa!" 

Marguerite  fell  back,  appalled.  Would  Basil  repulse 
that  appeal  ?  But  no !  his  arms  closed  upon  the  quivering 
boy,  and  Marguerite,  turning,  ran  to  the  door  and  fell 
upon  Regis's  shoulder. 

"He  loves  him  still!  He  loves  him  still!"  she  gasped, 
laughing  and  crying  at  the  same  time. 

And  in  a  little  while  they  were  all  in  the  room  together, 
Basil  with  Piotr  on  his  knee,  Regis  and  Marguerite  and 
Garrassime — in  his  long  linen  kaftan — one  tear  after  an- 
other coursing  down  the  middle  of  his  nose  in  a  fashion 
most  comical  had  it  not  been  so  pathetic,  everybody 
speaking  at  once  of  the  most  variegated  things,  so  that 
nobody  could  understand  a  word  that  was  said. 

Later — was  it  an  hour,  a  minute,  a  year? — none  there 
could  have  told — Piotr  was  induced  to  return  to  his 
slumbers,  and  Garrassime  to  his  side  of  the  screen,  for 
what  little  was  left  of  the  night.  Dame  Luna  was 
sliding  down  the  ultramarine  slope  of  the  sky  at  a  rapid 
rate.  On  the  edge  of  the  shingle  left  bare  by  the  tide 
sea-larks  were  beginning  to  move  restlessly  in  the  clusters 
of  glass  thistles  and  sand-poppies  where  they  adventure 
their  sleep,  and  from  the  mysterious  east  transparent 
scarfs  of  faintest  nacre  heralded  the  coming  of  the  dawn. 
The  air  was  so  pure,  so  fresh,  so  exquisitely  briny,  that 
as  they  passed  the  open  bay  of  the  gallery  they  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  of  breathing  it  in.  They  were 
silent,  now,  all  three,  quite  silent,  and  stood  facing  the  sea 
in  a  sort  of  reverence  for  its  beauty  that  found  no  ex- 
pression in  words. 

Marguerite — a  slender  white  shadow  silvered  by  that  un- 
earthly light  so  few  have  the  fortune  to  catch — leaned  over 
the  balustrade,  her  heart  beating  with  gentle  triumph. 

327 


MOONGLADE 

"Moonglade!"  murmured  Re"gis,  indicating  the  grace- 
ful silhouette  outlined  so  tenderly  against  the  still,  moon- 
lit water.  "You  were  right!" 

Basil  turned  and  looked  at  his  friend  and  kinsman. 
"Will  you  give  her  to  me?"  he  said,  very  low. 

Re"gis  raised  both  shoulders  and  eyes  to  Heaven  in  a 
gesture  of  complex,  almost  amusing  resignation. 

"Go  and  ask  her!"  he  said  in  the  same  tone,  and  went 
inside  to  wait  for  them. 


CHAPTER  XXII 


Heaven,  and  Hell,  and  this  earthly  ball, 
And  Jealousy  confounds  them  all. 

"I  HAVE  always  loved  you!  You  only!  You  alone, 
ever  since  you  were  a  little  baby  no  higher  than  my 
knee!" 

Marguerite  laughed.  "You  are  a  vile  flatterer!"  she 
declared,  making  an  adorable  little  grimace  at  her  lord 
and  master.  "Who  would  have  thought  that  my  grim 
mentor  of  years  ago — oh,  so  many  years  ago! — would  one 
day  descend  to  such  trickery?" 

They  were  sitting  under  the  pink-and-white  awning  of 
their  villa  on  the  "Azure  Coast" — as  it  is  so  fittingly 
called.  In  front  of  them  a  heavy  garland  of  ivy-gera- 
niums, a  mass  of  rose-colored  bloom  nestling  in  their  white- 
and-green  foliage,  seemed  the  rendez-vous  of  every  butter- 
fly of  the  littoral.  Marguerite's  gown  was  rose-hued,  too, 
and  her  favorite  floppy  shape  of  garden  hat  was  covered 
with  pink  acacia;  on  the  love-finger  of  her  left  hand  glowed 
the  great  ruby  of  her  fiangailles,  and  Basil,  in  a  spirit  of 
emulation,  wore  a  pink-and-white  carnation  in  the  lapel 
of  his  light-gray  morning  coat. 

The  honeymoon  was,  officially  speaking,  over,  but  only 
officially,  for  those  two  would  be  lovers  always;  and  soon 
they  would  sail  north  again,  where  Re"gis  and  Piotr  awaited 
their  return  with  what  patience  they  could  muster. 

It  had  been  a  pretty  wedding  au-village.  The  Castle 
22  329 


MOONGLADE 

chapel  filled  with  flowers,  the  peasants  and  sailors  and  salt- 
workers  in  their  gala  costumes,  the  bagpipes  blowing 
merrily  on  the  green  outside,  and  a  whole  ox  roasting 
under  the  trees  for  the  feast  given  to  all  the  people,who, 
had  come  for  miles  around  to  do  honor  to  the  Chevalier 
"Gamin."  Tatiana  and  Jean  and  Pavlo  had  arrived  from 
Russia,  other  friends  and  relatives  from  all  corners  of 
France,  and  also  from  other  lands,  and  during  a  week  the 
countryside  had  been  en-fete. 

Piotr  as  his  father's  best  man  had  made  a  brave  show, 
wearing  proudly  a  Court  suit  with  a  little  sword  at  his 
side;  and  as  to  the  bride  herself,  words  fail  to  describe 
that  dream-maiden  in  her  cloud  of  whiteness,  like  wreaths 
of  delicate  vapor  one  over  the  other,  caught  up  here  and 
there  by  clusters  of  odorous  blossoms  from  the  orangerie; 
and  her  long  illusion  veil,  with  the  diadem  of  orange-buds 
that  held  something  mystical  in  its  fragrant  purity.  At 
Basil's  demand  the  "Moonglade"  idea  he  loved  was 
carried  out  by  a  jewel — the  only  one  she  wore — which  he 
had  himself  designed,  and  combined,  and  ordered — a  cres- 
cent moon  of  palest  sapphires  embedded  in  diamonds,  and 
drooping  from  it  fluent  chain  after  fluent  chain  of  the 
same  gems — so  exquisitely  wrought  that  one  could  discover 
no  setting — falling  from  her  heart,  over  which  the  crescent 
was  fastened,  sideways,  to  the  edge  of  her  skirt  in  a  wavy 
succession  of  softly  shimmering  rays,  like  those  of  a  very 
young  moon  over  misty  water.  Tatiana  had  cried  out 
that  fiancees  in  France  wear  no  gems,  and  this  is  true 
enough,  in  the  real  "world"  of  old  principles  and  aristo- 
cratic ways,  but  Basil  had  pleaded,  and  Marguerite  had 
declared  that  his  word  was  her  law;  and  so  Tatiana  had 
yielded,  laughing  over  her  own  discomfiture. 

When  at  last  the  long  days  of  festivity  were  over,  Piotr, 
who,  strange  to  relate,  had  displayed  no  jealousy  of  his 
father,  had  been  taken  to  Salvieres  for  a  time  by  Re*gis 
to  avoid  his  moping  after  his  "little  darling  Malou." 

330 


MOONGLADE 

Two  months  had  now  elapsed  since  all  these  incidents: 
the  vagabondage  of  the  wyage-de-noces  was  over,  and  Mar- 
guerite's yacht,  La  Mauve  (Jean  de  Salvieres's  marriage- 
gift  to  her),  was  waiting  at  anchor  on  the  blue  Mediter- 
ranean waters,  a  few  cable-lengths  from  the  villa,  to  take 
them  back  to  Brittany. 

"Will  you  like  it  at  Plenhoel?"  Marguerite  asked,  sud- 
denly, a  little  anxiety  in  her  voice,  for  the  only  shadow 
in  her  happiness  was  the  thought  that  perhaps  her  Basil 
would  miss  Russia  and  his  active  life  there  among  his 
own  people. 

"Will  I  like  it?"  he  laughed.  "Why  d'you  think  I 
might  not?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  replied.  "Brittany  is  not 
over-cheerful  with  its  wild  seas,  its  storms,  its  bleak  moor- 
lands and  rock-girt  shores.  I  adore  it,  but  then  I  was 
born  there,  you  know,  which  makes  all  the  difference." 

"  You  perhaps  forget  that  I  am  a  bit  of  a  Breton  myself," 
he  retorted.  "Not  such  a  bad  combination,  either — Celt 
and  Slav.  What  do  you  say,  Madame  'Moonglade'?" 

"I  find  it  extremely  satisfactory,"  she  admitted,  "still, 
I  wish  I  were  sure  that  you  like  it  altogether — as  much 
as  you  do  Russia?" 

Basil  threw  his  half-smoked  cigarette  far  into  the 
bushes  near  the  sea-wall,  and  rose. 

"I  didn't  want  to  talk  about  it;  indeed,  nothing  was 
farther  from  my  mind  than  to  let  the  very  essence  of  a 
surprise  out  of  the  bag,  but  you  are  irresistible,  my  little 
siren,  and  so  here  goes!" 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  asked  Marguerite,  wide- 
eyed. 

"This:  do  you  remember  a  certain  antique  ruin  with 
many  beaux-restes  like  your  old  friend  Madame  de  Belbye 
...  a  ruin,  say  I,  perched  on  a  lofty  rock,  with  forests  of 
cork-oaks  and  other  useful  vegetables  unfurling  their  ever- 
green waves  against  the  demantibulated  bastions  of  the 


MOONGLADE 

above-mentioned  fortress,  a  few  leagues  only  from  Plen- 
hoel?" 

"La  Tour  du  Chevalier!"  she  cried,  her  eyes  dancing  with 
interest — "La  Tour  du  Chevalier!  the  old  warhold  where 
Du  Guesclin  dwelt,  and  before  him  dozens  of  other  great 
knights  of  Brittany,  for  hundreds  and  hundreds  of 
years  .  .  .  the  finest,  most  romantic  spot  that  exists  or 
has  ever  existed!" 

"The  same!"  gravely  admitted  Basil. 

"And  what  of  it?"  she  demanded,  breathlessly. 

"What  of  it?  There's  a  question  to  ask!  What  of  it, 
forsooth?  Millions  of  workmen — you  know  how  I  de- 
spise exaggeration — millions  of  workmen,  therefore,  are 
even  now  dealing  with  those  mossy  ancient  stones,  those 
tottering  battlements  where  your  hero  .  .  .  and  other 
heroes — you  have  such  a  collection  of  them,  by  the  way, 
Marguerite — enough  to  make  one  horribly  jealous — " 

"Were  not  one  the  chief  and  dearest  of  them  all?"  she 
interrupted  him. 

He  bowed,  his  hand  on  his  heart.  "Thanks,  my  lady- 
love, queen  of  my  soul.  Those  tottering  battlements,  as  I 
was  endeavoring  to  explain — well,  in  short,  the  workmen 
are  cementing  their  reunion.  Flocks  of  decorators  under 
the  guidance  of  the  most  distinguished  Viollet-le-Duc  of 
our  period  are  at  this  very  instant  evoking  the  past, 
poring  over  documentary  evidence  in  black,  and  red-letter, 
tearing  their  hair  and  rolling  their  eyes,  and  laying  back 
their  ears  in  the  endeavor  to  put  together  again  La  Tour 
du  Chevalier  as  it  once  reigned  over  the  border — La  Tour 
du  Chevalier,  for  one  Chevalier  'Gamin?  whose  home  in 
Brittany  it  is  to  be." 

With  a  cry  of  delight  Marguerite  jumped  up  and  threw 
her  arms  around  her  husband's  neck. 

' '  Oh !  You  fairy  prince !  Aladdin  of  the  Wonder-Lamp ! 
Do  you  mean  it  ?  Is  the  Tour  du  Chevalier  to  come  back 
to  life  for  my  sake?  Really?  Really?" 

332 


MOONGLADE 

With  eyes  full  of  joyful  tears  she  nestled  against  him. 
The  dream  of  her  childhood  had  come  true  at  the  touch 
of  a  magician's  wand,  as  it  were;  and  he,  who  hadjiot 
realized  quite  what  boundless  pleasure  he  was  giving, 
held  closely  the  happy  little  creature  he  worshiped. 
Nor  did  he  entirely  understand  until  she  told  him  of  her 
rovings  to  the  Tour  du  Chevalier  from  her  earliest  child- 
hood, her  evocations  there  of  Merlin  and  Melusine,  and 
the  knights  of  Arthur  riding  in  their  splendid  armor  under 
the  forest  boughs.  Of  how  she  had  wandered  untiringly 
in  and  out  of  the  dismantled  halls  and  roofless  galleries, 
the  enormous  crackling  walls  of  which  seemed  held  to- 
gether merely  by  huge  clinging  ropes  of  ivy  thick  as  a 
man's  leg.  Ah !  La  Tour  du  Chevalier  had  been  her  fairest 
record  of  chivalry,  her  window  into  that  mediaeval  period 
where  she  had  lived  in  thought,  and  whence  she  seemed  to 
have  emerged  armed  cap-a-pie  with  the  virtues  of  those 
great  Ages — their  heroism  and  dauntlessness,  their  gen- 
erosity and  nobility  and  faith.  And  wasn't  Basil  a  proud 
man  that  day! 

"Would  it  be  ready?"  she  inquired,  in  the  fashion  of  a 
child  asking  when  Christmas  will  be  here.  "Could  it  be 
possible  that  it  would  be  ready  soon?" 

Never  had  Basil  been  so  conscious  of  the  power  of  great 
wealth  as  he  was  now.  Yes!  The  multiplication  of 
hands  and  of  ducats  was  easy  to  him,  as  easy,  he  asserted, 
as,  "Kiss  your  hand,  my  lady."  Nothing  was  being 
neglected  to  hasten  Vaccomplissement  du  r&ve.  Moreover, 
ever  since  that  unclouded  morn  when  she  had  said  "Yes" 
to  him,  the  work  had  been  going  on.  "So  there,  Madame 
'Moonglade,'  reassure  yourself.  Your  slightest  desire  is 
an  order  to  me — "  etc.,  etc. — da-capo — to  the  end  of  the 
chapter! 

So  one  very  fine  day,  "once  upon  a  time,"  as  the  good 
Perrault  tells  us  in  his  Conies  de  Ftes,  the  prince  and  his 
princess  returned  from  afar,  and  lo,  and  behold!  the  keys 

333 


MOONGLADE 

of  the  citadel  were  presented  to  them  by  their  leal  son 
and  maitre-du-palais  on  a  velvet  cushion  that  he  held 
on  bended  knee — Piotr  in  azure  velvet,  his  curls  falling 
on  a  broad  lace  collar,  his  plumed  bonnet  in  one  sun- 
burnt hand — a  dauphin  after  their  own  heart. 

Re"gis  felt  as  if  his  "Gamin"  had  been  spirited  away  for 
eons  upon  eons  of  time,  but  there  she  was  again,  close  to 

him;  so  "Antinoiis  "  looked  more  "Antinouistic"  than  ever. 
******* 

******* 

Months  of  happiness  followed;  days  woven  of  silk  and 
gold  (tissus  de  soie  et  d'or),  as  the  good  saying  goes,  cloud- 
less, enchanting;  "almost  too  perfect  to  be  real,"  mused 
Basil.  Had  he  deserved  it  all?  Presumably,  since  they 
were  his  and  hers  and  Regis's  and  Piotr's;  Piotr  glorying 
in  his  father's  reconquered  love,  in  the  constant  tender- 
ness of  his  little  darling  Malou. 

One  late  afternoon  he  rushed  into  the  octagonal  salon 
where  she  sat  often  now  before  her  embroidery-frame  or 
at  her  spinnet,  like  those  ladies  of  the  long  ago  who  had 
preceded  her  at  the  Tour  du  Chevalier.  Greatly  to  Piotr's 
chagrin  she  did  not  gallop  in  the  forest  with  him  now,  nor 
canoe  on  the  inlet  below  the  Castle,  nor  undertake  those 
league-long  rambles  over  the  moors  that  he  was  so  fond 
of.  She  was,  however,  if  possible,  more  tender  than  ever 
to  him,  and  this  consoled  him  somewhat. 

"You  are  getting  so  lazy,  little  darling  Malou!"  he 
cried,  throwing  on  her  lap  an  armful  of  almond-scented 
white-and-pink  thorn  he  had  wrenched  from  its  prickly 
fastness  with  some  damage  to  his  strong  little  fingers. 
"Why  don't  you  come  out  and  play  with  me  and  Papa? 
We  are  throwing  the  paume — like  Henri-Quatre  and  his 
gentlemen." 

Marguerite  laughed.  "Come  here,  Piotr,"  she  said, 
making  room  for  him  on  the  broad  window-seat  beside 
her.  "I  want  to  speak  to  you,  my  son." 

334 


MOONGLADE 

"Isn't  it  funny,  little  darling  Malou?  It's  true  I  am 
your  son  now!  Just  as  Cousin  Pavlo  is  Aunt  Tatiana's; 
but  I'm  your  comrade  and  playfellow  the  same  as  1^  al- 
ways was,  and  you  love  me  better  than  any,  any  one  else 
in  the  world." 

"I  love  your  Papa,  too,"  she  said,  smiling,  "and  my 
own  Papa,  and  Pavlo's  Papa — such  a  lot  of  Papas!" 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  mind  that;  they're  all  big  gentle- 
men, and  you  can't  love  them  as  you  do  your  little  Piotr. 
Can  you?" 

"There  are  many  different  kinds  of  love — as  many  as 
there  are  kinds  of  stars  in  the  sky,  Piotr.  They  are  all 
beautiful,  and  created  to  illuminate  the  dark  places  of 
the  world;  for  where  there  is  no  love  there  is  no  light, 
my  little  one,  and  people  are  always  plunged  in  gloom." 

"You  do  speak  awfully  pretty,  little  darling  Malou. 
I  like  to  listen  to  what  you  say." 

"Thank  you,  Piotr;  so  now  listen.  In  a  little  while 
your  father  and  I — if  you  are  very  good — are  going  to 
make  you  a  present  of  a  little  playmate.  He  will  be  very 
tiny  and  awkward  at  the  beginning,  but  he  will  grow  up 
fast,  and  be  able  to  romp  with  you,  and  toss  the  paume 
like  Henri-Quatre.  Won't  you  be  pleased,  Piotr?" 

The  boy,  leaning  against  her  knees,  looked  slowly  up 
at  her,  his  eyes  heavy  with  doubt. 

"Is  that  another  fairy-tale,  like  the  ones  you  tell  me 
every  day,  little  darling  Malou?"  he  asked,  the  corners  of 
his  mouth  beginning  to  droop. 

"A  fairy-tale?    Why,  no,  Piotr,  it's  a  true,  true  story!" 

"And,"  the  child  continued,  "will  you  truly,  truly  bring 
another  Piotr  here  to  play  with  me  instead  of  you  and 
Papa  and  Uncle  Re"gis?" 

Marguerite  was  not  quite  reassured.  She"  knew  her 
Piotr  too  well,  and  her  thumbs  began  to  prick  oddly,  as 
she  claimed  they  invariably  did  when  trouble  was  afoot. 

"I  imagined  you'd  like  it  very  much,"  she  cautiously 

335 


MOONGLADE 

hazarded,  not  by  any  means  certain  of  her  ground  and 
feeling  her  way  about,  so  to  speak. 

Piotr's  strongly  marked  dark  brows  came  together 
above  his  imperious  little  nose  and  his  nostrils  quivered. 

"I  would  hate  it!"  he  said,  decisively;  "so  don't  bring 
a  disgusting  brat  here,  little  darling  Malou,  or  I'll  pitch 
him  in  the  oubliettes  under  the  great  round  tower.  I  swear 
I  will!" 

She  noticed  a  nervous  twitching  of  his  left  eyebrow, 
which  she  was  acquainted  with  as  a  very  bad  sign  of 
the  weather,  and  she  hastened  to  try  and  smooth  things 
down. 

"Don't  talk  like  that,  darling,"  she  said,  stroking  the 
rebellious  head.  "You  know  very  well  that  you  would 
never  do  anything  so  wicked;  besides,  you  might  get  to 
be  awfully  fond  of  your  little  playmate." 

With  a  sudden  brutality  of  gesture  utterly  disconcert- 
ing, Piotr  snatched  the  starry  branches  from  Marguerite's 
lap  and  threw  them  helter-skelter  across  the  room.  Then 
turning,  he  fled  toward  the  door. 

"Piotr,"  she  called,  very  calmly,  "come  back  to 
Malou!" 

She  had  not  stirred,  her  face  was  white;  but  there  was 
no  quiver  in  her  voice,  and  the  child,  his  hand  already  on 
the  knob,  paused  at  full  tension,  his  back  toward  her. 

"Come  back  here,  please!"  Again  she  did  not  raise 
her  tone,  but  there  was  a  new  quality  in  it;  and  very 
reluctantly,  his  face  dark  as  thunder,  Piotr  retraced  his 
steps  one  by  one  until  he  stood  within  a  foot  of  her. 

"My  little  Piotr,"  she  murmured,  very  tenderly,  "are 
you  going  to  be  bad  with  me,  too?" 

No  answer.  Her  heart  for  a  moment  misgave  her,  but 
she  held  out  her  arms  to  him  with  infinite  gentleness. 

"Don't  you  love  Malou  any  more,  Piotr?"  she  asked, 
almost  in  a  whisper. 

Fiercely  the  boy  flung  himself  upon  her  and  began  to 

336 


MOONGLADE 

sob  noiselessly,  convulsively,  with  pitiful  indrawings  of 
the  breath;  and  now  she  could  no  longer  doubt  what  was 
coming.  Weak  and  dizzy,  she  felt  like  calling  aloud  for 
help,  but  the  mere  thought  of  bringing  Basil  upon  the 
scene,  and  of  what  his  anger  would  be  against  Piotr, 
choked  the  appeal  in  her  throat.  Instead  she  gathered 
him  closer  and  closer  to  her,  crooning  over  him,  hoping 
that  she  might  once  more  avert  the  storm  as  she  had  so 
often  done  before;  but  the  very  roots  of  his  being  seemed 
to  have  been  shaken,  and  nothing  she  could  do  would 
calm  him. 

At  last  there  was  a  momentary  lull,  when,  exhausted  by 
his  jealous  fury,  Piotr  lay  panting  across  her  knees,  head 
down,  face  hidden,  throbbing  all  over  like  a  little  over- 
charged engine. 

"Piotr,"  she  ventured,  ready  to  burst  into  tears  her- 
self— "Piotr,  please,  please  be  quiet.  You  hurt  me!" 

Like  a  galvanized  frog  the  boy  bounded  away  from  her, 
and,  swaying  back  and  forth,  his  eyes  ablaze,  literally 
shaking  from  head  to  foot  in  his  uncontrollable  rage,  he 
roared: 

"Promise  you  won't  bring  the  beast — promise — prom- 
ise— promise — or  I — tell — you — I'll  bash  in  his — his — 
h-head!"  And  all  at  once  he  rolled  on  the  carpet  at  her 
feet,  kicking  with  all  his  might. 

At  that  unfortunate  moment  Basil  opened  the  door 
and  walked  in.  One  glance,  and  although  he  had  never 
as  yet  seen  his  son  in  one  of  these  fits,  he  understood,  also 
he  realized  the  risk  of  such  a  scene  for  Marguerite,  and 
in  two  strides  he  reached  Piotr  and,  picking  him  up  as 
if  he  weighed  an  ounce,  held  him  tight. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  sir?"  he  asked,  grimly. 

"Basil!"  Marguerite  cried,  rushing  to  him.  "Basil! 
For  God's  sake — he  doesn't  know  what  he  is  doing! 
Please,  for  my  sake,  don't  be  harsh!" 

"Never  you  mind,  Marguerite,"  Basil  answered,  greatly 

337 


MOONGLADE 

alarmed  for  her.  "I  won't  be  harsh, but  we  must  under- 
stand each  other,  he  and  I." 

An  understanding  did  not  seem  likely  to  result,  for 
Piotr,  far  from  desisting,  was  wriggling  desperately  in 
Basil's  arms,  poor  little  chap!  maddened  by  the  impos- 
sibility of  escape,  his  face  gray,  his  eyes  nearly  starting 
out  of  his  head;  and  Marguerite  suddenly  caught  hold  of 
her  husband's  shoulder  with  a  grip  that  surprised  him. 

"You  sha'n't  do  that!"  she  commanded.  "He  is 
quite  beside  himself.  You'll  only  make  it  worse.  Give 
him  to  me.  I  know  what  to  do  when  he  is  like  this!" 

What  would  have  followed  cannot  be  conjectured  had 
not  Garrassime,  attracted  by  the  noise,  and  guessing  what 
was  happening,  run  into  the  room  and,  without  a  word, 
taken  hold  of  Piotr  and  carried  him  off  without  further 
ceremony,  still  kicking  and  yelling. 

Basil,  for  an  instant  completely  dumfounded,  remained 
planted,  as  it  were,  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  while  Mar- 
guerite, thoroughly  ashamed  of  her  momentary  loss  of 
self-control,  hung  her  head  and  twisted  the  ends  of  her 
peignoir  ribbons,  vainly  trying  to  recapture  herself. 

"  Well !"  said  Basil  at  last.  "Well,  this  is  a  pretty  state 
of  things!  Is  he  often  like  that,  Marguerite?  I  never 
knew — my  poor  little  girl!" 

With  difficulty  she  prevented  her  voice  from  trembling. 
"No;  very  rarely,"  she  said,  shortly. 

"Then  what  made  him  burst  out  like  that?  But  here, 
for  pity's  sake,  sit  down,  Marguerite.  This  is  pleasant 
for  you!" 

"No!  Not  if  you  will  only  not  interfere,"  she  faltered. 
"I  couldn't  bear  to  see  you  two  aux-prises.  It  was  my 
fault.  I  tried  to — to  prepare  him  for  what  is — what  is 
coming,  that's  all." 

She  had  gone  back  to  her  seat  in  the  window  and 
glanced  imploringly  up  at  him.  Quickly  he  joined  her  and, 
bending  before  her,  took  her  little  icy  hands  in  one  of  his. 

338 


MOONGLADE 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  from  my  heart.  I  beg  your  pardon, 
Marguerite,"  he  said,  penitently.  "You  should  not  have 
had  to  suffer  this!" 

"My  poor  boy!"  she  tremulously  murmured.  "It  is 
from  you  I  should  have  wished  to  keep  it  concealed.  He 
is  such  a  fine  little  chap !  He  can't  help  what  he  does  now 
and  then,  and  punishment  would  only  make  it  worse. 
I  know  it.  I  am  convinced  that  force  would  be  folly  to 
attempt.  Don't  you  ever  try  it!" 

Touched  by  her  courage  and  exceeding  generosity  he 
stared  at  her.  "I  believe  from  my  soul  you  are  more 
than  half  an  angel,"  he  said.  "I  shall  do  what  you  say, 
whatever  happens — I  give  you  my  word  on  it;  but  still 
he  should  be  made  to  understand  what  he  does.  What 
may  not  one  of  these  attacks  bring  about?" 

"  He  will  get  out  of  it  when  he  grows  older,"  she  pleaded. 
"  He  is  so  very  manly  that  one  easily  forgets  what  a  baby 
he  is  yet." 

"My  God!"  Basil  was  thinking,  "what  obscure  inherit- 
ance is  this  the  result  of?"  And  suddenly  the  image  of 
Laurence  flashed  before  him,  Laurence  beautiful  and  vi- 
cious, cankered  inwardly  like  a  fruit,  splendid  to  the 
eye  only. 

He  took  a  couple  of  turns  up  and  down  before  speaking 
again. 

"It  is  jealousy,  then?"  he  said  at  length,  stopping  in 
front  of  her. 

"Yes,"  she  admitted,  "jealousy  of  me." 

"Then,"  Basil  continued,  "why  isn't  he  jealous  of  my 
love  for  you,  my  presence  near  you?" 

"He  just  told  me,"  she  said,  with  the  gkost  of  a  smile 
lurking  at  the  corners  of  her  rosy  mouth — for  she  had 
already  recovered  her  delicate  color — "that  I  couldn't 
possibly  love  a  grown-up  gentleman  like  you  as  I  did  him 
—my  little  Piotr." 

Basil  could  not  help  laughing.  "That's  ingenious!" 

339 


MOONGLADE 

he  conceded;  "very  ingenious  and  plausible  —  and  for- 
tunate, too!  What  would  we  do  if  he  had  extended  these 
kindly  sentiments  to  me?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Sufficient  unto  the  hour  is  the  wonder- 
ment thereof,"  she  replied,  delighted  to  find  that  he  was 
not  disposed  to  take  the  affair  too  tragically.  "A  few 
weeks  ago  he  wanted  to  fight  a  duel  with  Boustifaille,  his 
ex.-canot  lad,  when  he  came  to  pay  his  respects  on  his 
return  from  the  Banks,  because  I  was  imprudent  enough 
to  admire  the  finely  bronzed  appearance  of  the  interest- 
ing Terre-neuvas." 

"Wanted  to  fight  him?  Swords  or  pistols  for  two, 
eh?"  asked  Basil,  amused  in  spite  of  himself. 

"Clasp-knives,  if  you  please,"  she  responded.  "Clasp- 
knives,  sailor  fashion." 

"Oh,"  commented  Basil,  "nothing  if  not  energetic!" 

"Mercy,  yes!  Blood  will  tell,  you  know!  You  your- 
self are  no  milksop,  my  dearest  Basil.  Neither  were  your 
ancestors,  from  all  I've  heard  and  read." 

A  shadow  passed  over  his  forehead.  He  could  not  as 
yet  quite  endure  being  reminded  of  the  horrible  period 
of  doubt  he  had  gone  through  with  regard  to  Piotr's  birth- 
right. During  the  last  days  of  their  sojourn  on  the  C6te- 
d'Azur  they  had  come  unexpectedly,  and  most  unpleasant- 
ly for  him,  across  Sir  Robert  and  Lady  Seton  stepping 
from  the  dinghy  of  their  yacht.  There  had  been  a  mo- 
ment's embarrassment,  and  then  all  four  had  sauntered 
on  the  promenade  together,  studiously  avoiding  any  al- 
lusion to  Laurence.  Later  on,  by  a  special,  if  somewhat 
diffident,  request  of  the  nautical  baronet,  Basil  had  rowed 
back  with  him  to  the  yacht  for  a  short  talk — a  rather 
painful  experience.  Sir  Robert,  his  choleric  blue  eye 
cocked  up  to  the  saloon  skylight  of  the  Phyllis,  had  roundly 
denounced  his  late  niece,  overbearing  Basil's  chivalrous 
silence,  and,  glad  to  be  able  to  let  himself  go  for  once, 
had  used  language  of  exceeding  saltiness — oicturesque, 

340 


MOONGLADE 

much  to  the  point,  and  altogether  adequate  even  to  that 
subject. 

This  encounter  had  re-opened  a  wound  or  two  which 
had  not  been  very  prompt  to  heal  again,  and  had  served, 
moreover,  to  show  him  how  very  much  more  deeply  he 
had  suffered  during  his  first  marriage  than  he  had 
believed. 

"I  must  dress  for  dinner  now,"  Marguerite  said,  cut- 
ting into  his  unamiable  reminiscences.  "Run  along,  dear, 
and  do  likewise." 

"Are  you  going  to  dress  at  once,"  he  asked,  "or  do  you 
intend  to  go  mooning  after  Piotr  to  get  the  latest  bulletin, 
Madame  '  Moonglade'  ?" 

"I  shall  do,  beloved,  just  precisely  as  I  see  fit,"  she 
laughed.  "You  gave  me  Piotr  quite  a  long  time  ago  as 
an  earnest  of  good-will.  He  is,  therefore,  more  mine  than 
anybody  else's — past,  present,  or  future — so  kindly  turn 
your  exclusive  attention  to  the  tying  of  your  cravat — the 
color  of  your  buttonhole  flower.  I  shall  make  myself 
very  beautiful  in  rose  and  silver,  since  it  is  my  lord's 
favorite  combination  of  tints,  and  meanwhile  I  bid  you 
God-speed." 

She  courtesied  to  him,  made  a  quick  little  run,  raised 
her  delicious  mouth  to  be  kissed,  and  in  a  flurry  of  gauze 
and  cobwebby  lace  disappeared  through  the  narrow  door 
in  the  arras  leading  to  her  apartments. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

To  draw  the  sting,  withouten  fail 
Endeth  the  evil;  and  this  tale. 

"ISN'T  he  a  beauty?"  the  "Gamin"  asked,  lifting  her 
baby  from  the  great  white  blanket  upon  which  he  was 
crawling  about,  and  flourishing  him  in  her  extended  arms 
toward  Pavlo,  who  had  arrived  an  hour  before  from 
Salvieres. 

"Man  or  woman?"  the  young  officer  demanded,  some- 
what peremptorily.  "I  can  never  remember  the  sex  of 
a  thing  not  old  enough  to  wear  trousers." 

"Awfully  stupid  of  you!"  Marguerite  contemptuously 
commented.  "Especially  since  he  bears  your  name,  and 
you  were  his  proxy-godfather,  mon  ami!" 

"That's  true,  too!"  admitted  Pavlo,  more  meekly. 
"Proxy-godfather — not  godfather  by  proxy.  There's  a 
difference." 

"A  very  serious  nuance,"  Marguerite  reprehended; 
"you  had  the  honor  of  proxyfying  (Lord!  I  wonder  if 
that's  the  right  way  to  put  it?)  His  Majesty  the  Autocrat 
of  All  the  Russias,  and  came  loaded  down  with  offerings 
like  the  Magi.  Whew !  You  mind  that  golden  christen- 
ing-goblet studded  with  clear-set  rubies  and  diamonds  as 
big  as  haricot  beans?  It  was  a  sore  temptation  not  to 
have  them  strung  into  a  necklace  for  myself." 

"As  if  your  jewel-coffers  were  not  teeming  and  running 
over  already,"  he  scoffed.  "Don't  forget  your  own  little 
cadeau  -  de  -  relevailles  from  the  same  Imperial  source, 
Madame  la  Princesse  Palitzin.  Pearls  the  size  of  hazel- 

342 


MOONGLADE 

nuts — large  hazelnuts  at  that — are  not  picked  up  in  the 
hoof -prints  of  a  pack-mule."  And  he  pointed  to  the 
strands  coiled  about  her  white  neck  beneath  the  sheer 
ananas-batiste  of  her  corsage.  "Why,  they  reveal  their 
orient,  smoored  as  they  are  by  this  stuff  you  wear." 

"Smoored,"  she  shrugged.  "Who  ever  heard  of  speak- 
ing so  insolently  of  autocratic  pearls?" 

Marguerite,  though  transformed  by  the  plenitude  of 
her  happiness,  was  never  more  than  now  deserving  of  her 
nickname  of  "  Moonglade."  Standing  there  on  the  broad 
terrace  of  La  Tour  du  Chevalier,  she  looked  every  bit  as 
young  as  she  had  done  when  Basil  had  visited  her  at  the 
Hotel  de  Plenhoel  just  after  his  marriage  with  Laurence 
Seton.  Slender,  erect,  ethereal  as  ever,  and  dainty  with 
the  daintiness  of  a  flower,  there  was  nothing  full-blown 
as  yet  about  this  Marguerite  of  Marguerites,  and  her 
father,  walking  up  from  the  plaisance,  smiled  with  pride 
as  he  saw  her. 

"Oh!"  she  cried.  "Here  is  Grandpapa — such  a  vener- 
able Grandpapa!  Pull  his  mustache,  Pavlo,  junior — a 
corn-colored  mustache,  too,  as  silky  as  your  hair,  baby 
mine!  Isn't  it  a  scandal  to  look  so  indecently  youthful, 
my  father  dear?" 

Re"gis  laughed.  He  certainly  did  not  give  a  very  grand- 
fatherly  impression,  for  he  stubbornly  refused  to  become 
even  middle-aged,  and  was  still  the  beau-sabreur  and  pas- 
sionate sportsman  he  had  always  been.  His  daughter's 
ideal  existence  with  Basil  was  an  everlasting  joy  to  him, 
and  now  he  beamed  upon  the  little  group  on  the  terrace. 
Suddenly  his  smile  disappeared. 

"Look  out,  Chevalier!"  he  said,  precipitately;  and  to 
Pavlo's  immense  astonishment  Marguerite  hastily  put 
his  small  namesake  down  on  the  blanket,  looking  almost 
fearfully  over  her  shoulder. 

"Don't  praise  the  baby  before  Piotr!"  she  whispered 
to  him.  'Til  explain  later." 

343 


MOONGLADE 

His  mouth  wide  open  with  astonishment,  the  young 
Garde-a-Cheval  saw  Piotr  emerge  at  a  lively  trot  from  the 
long  flight  of  stone  steps  leading  up  from  a  lower  terrace 
and  fly  like  a  dart  toward  him — Piotr  transformed  into  a 
big  boy  in  long  sailor-trousers,  a  nautical  blouse,  and  a 
beret,  with  the  words  La  Mauve  in  gold  gleaming  on  its 
ribbon,  thrust  well  to  the  back  of  his  head. 

"Hallo,  Cousin  Pavlo!"  the  boy  cried.  "They  told 
me  you  had  come,  so  I  ran  as  fast  as  I  could!"  And  doff- 
ing his  beret  in  right  gallant  fashion,  he  held  out  his 
brown  hand  in  greeting. 

"  Sapertipopette!"  exclaimed  Pavlo.  "The  heir  of  the 
House  of  Palitzin  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired,  it  seems 
to  me." 

With  an  amusing  tilt  of  his  eminently  patrician  nose 
Piotr  looked  his  cousin  up  and  down,  and,  preternaturally 
solemn,  declared,  "Neither  does  the  heir  of  the  House  of 
Salvieres!" 

There  was  a  general  burst  of  merriment. 

"This  comes,"  Regis  gravely  pronounced,  as  soon  as  he 
could  speak,  "of  being  brought  up  entirely  among  grown 
people.  One  knows  one's  ropes  early." 

"Are  you  going  to  stay  long  with  us,  Cousin  Pavlo?" 
demanded  the  undismayed  Piotr. 

"Fairly  so,  if  you'll  permit  it,  my  dear  cousin." 

"I  do!  But  it's  only  because  you  are  too  old  now  to 
be  a  playmate  that  I  like  your  being  here." 

"You  surprise  me,  Monsieur  Piotr!"  said  Pavlo,  who 
was  quite  genuinely  amazed.  "  Might  I  so  far  venture  as 
to  ask  what  set  objection  you  have  against  playmates?" 

"It's  little  darling  Malou's  fault,"  imperturbably  ex- 
plained Piotr.  "Fancy,  Cousin  Pavlo,  that  some  months 
ago  she  threatened  to  give  me  one — a  playmate  who  would 
take  her  place  and  Papa's,  and  toss  the  paume  with  me." 

"Well?"  inquired  Pavlo.  "Was  there  anything  offen- 
sive about  that?" 

344 


MOONGLADE 

Piotr's  face  had  turned  a  little  pale,  his  eyes  narrowing 
almost  to  slits. 

"No,"  he  grumbled,  "not  as  it  turned  out  at  last. 
But  you  see,  Cousin  Pavlo,  it  might  have  been  different." 

"What  might  have  been  different?"  insisted  Pavlo. 
"Can't  you  explain  better  than  that,  Piotr?" 

"No!"  the  boy  replied,  his  frank  and  open  expression 
suddenly  transformed  into  sulkiness.  "I  don't  like  to 
talk  about  it.  Come  and  see  my  soldiers,  Cousin  Pavlo; 
it  will  be  much  more  pleasant.  They  are,"  he  continued, 
resuming  his  ordinary  tone  and  mien,  "Gardes-a-Cheval  like 
yourself.  And  just  think,  Papa  gave  me  a  real,  big, 
splendid  camp,  with  a  mess-tent  and  little  isbas  exactly 
like  those  at  your  camp — the  soldiers  are  five  inches  tall, 
and  the  horses  all  in  proportion." 

"What  sort  of  a  playroom  have  you  got,  my  friend, 
to  hold  such  an  outfit?"  asked  Pavlo,  smiling. 

"Oh,  the  whole  floor  of  a  tower!"  cried  Piotr,  trium- 
phantly. "My  little  darling  Malou  arranged  it  all  for 
me.  She  thinks  of  nobody  but  me.  Don't  you,  little 
darling  Malou?"  And  with  the  most  tender  and  winning 
smile  imaginable,  the  boy  clasped  Marguerite's  waist  in 
both  arms  and  looked  adoringly  up  at  her. 

"Voyez  vous  $a!  There's  cheek  for  you!"  cried  Pavlo. 
"And  what  about  your  father  and  little  Pavlo  here? 
Doesn't  she  think  of  them  sometimes?" 

The  smile  vanished  from  Piotr's  face.  "  Papa  knew  her 
long  before  she  knew  me,"  he  said.  "Also  he  is  an  old 
gentleman  with  gray  hair — so  he  doesn't  count;  and  as 
to  that  rubber  bath-doll  there,"  and  he  contemptuously 
pointed  at  his  little  brother,  "how  could  she  love  it?  It 
only  says  Youm-youm  and  Gaga-gaga.  It's  an  idiot!" 

As  ill-luck  would  have  it,  the  baby,  wholly  unconscious 

of  the  anathema  pronounced  against  him,  selected  that 

risky  moment  for  a  coup-de-thedtre  of  immense  magnitude. 

Sitting  up  on  his  blanket,  he  suddenly  raised  his  head, 

23  345 


MOONGLADE 

opened  his  rosebud  of  a  mouth,  and  in  the  rather  heart- 
shaking  fashion  of  the  first  word  ever  pronounced,  clearly 
uttered,  "Mayou!" 

Marguerite,  flushing  with  delight,  started  forward  to 
catch  him  in  her  arms,  but  Regis,  quicker  than  she,  inter- 
posed himself,  and,  lifting  the  little  fellow,  began  tossing 
him  up  and  down  as  if  nothing  out  of  the  common  had 
taken  place. 

"What!"  Piotr  asked  in  a  queer,  trembling  voice — 
"what  did  it  say?" 

Pavlo  was  on  the  point  of  translating  his  godson's  loyal 
effort  to  say  "Malou"  like  Piotr  himself,  but  a  glance  at 
Marguerite's  distressed  face  stopped  him,  and  with  a 
presence  of  mind  quite  above  praise  explained,  instead: 
"Why,  didn't  you  hear,  Piotr?  He  said  Gou-gou  or  Mou- 
mou,  br  some  other  ununderstandable  thing  of  the  kind. 
He  is  too  little  to  talk  yet." 

"That's  good!"  came  from  Piotr.  "I  thought  he  had 
said  'Malou.'  And  no  one  has  a  right  to  say  that  except- 
ing me.  Malou  is  my  little  darling  Malou!" 

"Oh,  come,  you're  getting  to  be  a  bore  with  your 
ridiculous  ideas!"  Pavlo  interrupted,  rather  sharply,  for, 
uninitiated  into  the  risks  of  the  situation,  he  was  amazed 
at  the  extraordinary  tolerance  of  Marguerite  and  Re*gis, 
as  well  as  at  the  appalled  glances  exchanged  between  the 
nurse — a  superb  Bretonne  in  her  gorgeous  costume — and 
Garrassime,  who  had  been  standing  behind  Piotr,  a  silent 
witness  of  this  curious  scene. 

Fortunately  at  that  moment  Basil  came  striding  along 
the  terrace,  creating  a  much-needed  diversion,  and  Gar- 
rassime, seizing  the  occasion,  suggested  to  Piotr  to  come 
and  arrange  his  camp  for  Lieutenant  Pavlo's  inspection. 

As  soon  as  they  had  disappeared  Pavlo  irritably  turned 
to  Marguerite  and  asked  her,  with  some  military  brusque- 
ness,  "What  the  dickens  was  up?"  at  which  simple 
remark  Marguerite,  to  everybody's  distress,  suddenly 

346 


MOONGLADE 

broke  into  a  passion  of  tears.  Marguerite — the  "  Gamin," 
Knight  of  the  Golden  Spur,  weeping,  was  something 
unheard,  undreamed  of!  Basil  took  her  in  his  arms, 
looking  savagely  at  poor  Pavlo,  who,  in  utter  consterna- 
tion, was  gazing  helplessly  at  Regis. 

"  Here !' '  the  latter  cried.  ' '  Take  your  boy.  He  deserves 
a  reward,  and  so  do  you."  And  he  put  little  Pavlo  hastily 
on  his  mother's  lap.  "Meanwhile,"  he  continued,  "I'll 
go  and  keep  Master  Piotr  away.  Come  with  me,  Pavlo, 

and  I'll  tell  you  what's  amiss." 

******* 

******* 

"Little  Pavlo"  was  undoubtedly  breaking  from  the 
chrysalis  of  babyhood.  "II  gigotte  comme  un  petit  diable," 
Divyne,  the  nurse,  proudly  stated  to  Garrassime,  whose 
proficiency  in  French,  and  even  in  Breton,  was  growing 
daily  more  remarkable.  "//  va  se  mettre  a  marcher  tout  & 
I'heure!"  declared  Divyne,  and  Garrassime's  face  was  a 
study  of  mingled  appreciation  for  his  littlest  master's 
precocity,  and  of  terror  at  the  thought  of  the  sole  and  only 
Palitzin  Tyrant  left — namely,  Prince  Piotr-the-Jealous — 
as  Pavlo  de  Salvieres  had  nicknamed  him  in  an  imprudent 
moment.  Nor  was  Garrassime  the  only  one  at  the  Tour 
du  Chevalier  who  entertained  that  mixture  of  feelings, 
three  parts  delight  and  one  part  anxiety.  Basil,  since 
the  day  of  the  baby's  first  attempt  to  talk,  was  at  a  loss 
what  to  do;  Marguerite,  continually  pulled  between  her 
worship  of  her  own  beautiful  son  and  her  love  for  Piotr, 
was  growing  thin;  Regis  was  continually  on  the  watch; 
and  Pavlo  thought  within  himself  that  a  sound  flogging 
in  the  right  quarter  would  avoid  many  difficulties,  but, 
being  extremely  adaptable,  he  forebore  to  say  so,  having 
noticed  how  far  more  than  useless  such  an  observation 
would  be. 

One  rather  rough  afternoon,  following  a  storm  when 
the  sea  was  still  heaving  from  its  recent  stress,  and  the 

347 


MOONGLADE 

sky  a  mass  of  glorious  white  and  pale-gray  clouds  tossing 
about  against  patches  of  intermittently  revealed  azure, 
Marguerite  was  changing  from  her  morning  gown  into 
her  riding-habit,  when  Divyne  knocked  at  the  door 
of  her  dressing-room  and,  being  bidden  to  enter,  did  so, 
carrying  the  baby  on  her  arm.  A  prettier  child  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  find.  Dimpled  like  a  cherub,  his 
satiny  round  face  crowned  by  an  already  thick  crop  of 
curls — blonde  as  his  mother's — and  lighted  by  eyes  of 
blue  resembling  hers  quite  startlingly  in  shape  and  color, 
he  was  bubbling  with  happy  life. 

"Madame  la  Princesse,"  quoth  Divyne,  smiling  from 
one  ear  to  the  other,  "he  has  just  said  it  again — Malou — 
and  laugh!  Oh,  ma  done,  he  laughed  so  one  could  have 
heard  him  as  far  as  the  semaphore!" 

Marguerite,  turning  away  from  her  maid,  who  was 
about  to  unfasten  her  lace  petticoat,  took  the  boy  in  her 
arms  and  kissed  him  with  the  passion  she  could  only 
indulge  when  certain  of  Piotr's  absence.  She  was  in  a 
hurry,  for  she  was  to  meet  Basil,  Regis,  and  Pavlo  the 
Greater,  at  her  old  favorite  spot,  the  Carrefour  of  the 
Seven  Sages,  within  the  hour,  and  Ireland  was  already  in 
the  Cour-d'honneur  with  her  horse  and  his,  waiting;  but, 
happy  to  have  her  darling  all  to  herself  for  once,  she  be- 
gan to  pace  up  and  down  with  him,  holding  him  close  and 
tight  and  kissing  his  fat  little  neck  again  and  again. 
Suddenly  Pavlo  minor,  as  they  passed  the  open  door  of 
the  adjoining  bedroom,  caught  sight  of  a  portrait  of  Basil 
in  the  scarlet  of  his  Hvree  as  master  of  the  fox-hounds,  sur- 
rounded by  his  dogs.  The  likeness  was  vivid,  and  the 
baby,  with  a  cry  of  recognition,  said  as  plain  as  plain  could 
be:  "Papa!  Papa!" 

Marguerite,  hardly  believing  her  ears,  ran  into  the 
room  and,  raising  the  baby  high  up,  exclaimed  raptur- 
ously: "  Yes,  my  own  little  son,  that's  your  Papa !  Your 
dear,  dear  Papa!" 

348 


MOONGLADE 

Pavlo  crowed  with  pleasure,  throwing  himself  back  on 
his  mother's  pretty  shoulder;  then  poking  a  pudgy  finger 
into  her  soft  cheek,  opened  his  mouth  and  again  spoke: 
"Malou,"  he  said,  " Malou-maman." 

Marguerite  sat  right  down  on  the  carpet  and  literally 
rained  kisses  upon  this  prodigy. 

"My  clever  baby,"  she  crooned  over  him.  "Was  there 
ever  in  the  world  such  a  wonder,  such  a  treasure?  Wait 
till  Papa  hears  you  say  that,  you  darling,  just  wait!" 

The  nurse  and  the  maid,  chatting  together  in  whispers 
by  the  dressing-room  window,  were  not  attending,  Mar- 
guerite lost  in  admiration  did  not  hear,  and  yet  at  this 
juncture  there  was  a  curious  motion  of  the  portieres 
separating  Basil's  room  from  his  wife's,  a  smothered  sob, 
and  then  a  light  scurry  of  little  feet  running  away. 
Could  any  of  the  three  women  have  seen  the  livid  fury 
masking  the  face  of  Piotr  as  he  fled  through  corridor  after 
corridor  to  a  back  stairs  leading  upon  the  terrace,  what 
might  not  have  been  spared  to  all? 

Almost  immediately  Marguerite,  remembering  Basil, 
and  how  absurdly  anxious  he  would  be  if  she  was  not 
there  on  time,  reluctantly  gave  the  baby  to  his  nurse, 
with  the  hundred  recommendations  which  invariably  fol- 
lowed such  an  act,  and,  relinquishing  herself  to  her  maid's 
hands,  implored  her  to  hurry,  in  comic  accents  of  despair. 

Divyne,  the  methodical  Bretonne,  left  the  room,  slowly 
descended  the  main  stairs,  and  went  out  by  the  perron. 
The  wind  had  fallen  to  a  breeze,  singing  now  over  the 
waves,  and  murmuring  in  the  thick  mantle  of  ivy  luxuri- 
antly draping  the  portion  of  the  walls  at  the  foot  of  which 
she  generally  took  her  charge  for  an  airing.  The  baby, 
vexed,[doubtless,  at  being  removed  with  so  little  ceremony 
from  his  mother's  room,  was  fretful,  and  Divyne  glanced 
quickly  around  to  see  if  the  footman  specially  detailed 
for  that  service  had  disposed  the  big  white  rug  and  the 
toys  in  their  accustomed  place.  But,  no,  this  had  not 

349 


MCM3NGLADE 

been  done,  and  she  began  to  call  him  at  the  top  of  her 
voice. 

There  was  no  answer;  the  noise  of  the  surf  below  was 
too  loud  to  permit  a  lesser  sound  to  penetrate  into  the 
Castle,  so  the  Bretonne  retraced  her  steps  and  went  quick- 
ly to  a  side  passage  leading  to  the  servants'  hall. 

"Louis!"  she  cried.  "He!  Louis!  —  Pierre!  Jean- 
Marie!"  She  tried  again,  hoping  that  another  of  the  foot- 
men on  duty  would  hear  her,  but  this  collective  call  re- 
mained unanswered,  too,  and,  getting  impatient,  Divyne 
placed  little  Pavlo  very  carefully  on  the  thick  rug  and  ran 
to  the  farther  end  of  the  corridor  to  bawl  out  at  better 
advantage.  At  last  she  heard,  from  the  depths  of  be- 
yond, manly  accents  responding,  "Present,  Mam'selle 
Divyne!"  It  was  the  recreant  Louis  coming  at  full  speed, 
and  Divyne  went  to  pick  baby  up  from  the  rug.  And 
then  the  footman  heard  a  shriek  that  lent  wings  to  his 
feet. 

The  baby  was  gone. 


"Will  you  never  be  through?"  Marguerite  was  telling 
her  maid.  "Here,  give  me  my  hat  and  stick!  Well! 
Well!  Well!  Haven't  I  got  my  boots  on  yet?"  She 
rushed  to  a  window  and,  bending  out,  shouted  to  Ireland: 
"Leave  my  horse  with  the  groom,  Irry,  and  gallop  on  to 
the  Carrefour  to  tell  monsieur  that  I  am  coming.  I've 
been  delayed,  and  he'll  be  anxious!" 

For  a  second  Ireland  looked  dubiously  at  the  now 
empty  window,  but  his  Chevalier  "  Gamin's  "  orders  must 
be  obeyed,  and,  leaping  into  the  saddle,  he  was  off. 

"Poor  old  chap!"  laughed  Marguerite  as,  shortly  after- 
ward, she  vaulted  into  her  own  saddle.  "I'm  sure  he  is 
convinced  that  I  am  unable  to  reach  the  Carrefour  without 
him.  I'll  take  the  short  cut  and  surprise  him  on  the  way. 
He's  gone  by  the  avenue."  With  which  charitable  reso- 

350 


MOONGLADE 

lution  she  set  her  horse  going  at  a  rapid  trot  along  the 
narrow  path  skirting  the  old  fortifications  above  the  sea. 

"Merrythought,"  a  powerful  hunter  Basil  had  given 
her  on  her  last  birthday,  was  sagely  picking  his  way,  and 
was  both  shocked  and  amazed  when  a  sudden  violent  pull 
at  the  reins  brought  him  almost  to  his  haunches  just  as  he 
was  enfilading  the  broader  sandy  road  along  the  beach. 
Marguerite  jumped,  and  as  she  jumped  she  tore  at  the 
fastenings  of  her  skirt,  kicking  off  her  boots  and  leaving 
"Merrythought"  to  shift  for  himself  all  at  one  and  the 
same  time.  Then  she  ran — ran  as  she  had  never  run  be- 
fore, to  meet  the  incoming  waves. 

Already  several  cable-lengths  from  shore,  her  own  canoe 
— a  slight  affair  of  canvas  and  whalebone — unsinkable, 
so  it  was  claimed — was  tossing  violently  up  and  down  in 
the  trough,  and  in  the  canoe  sat  Piotr,  rigid  as  a  statue, 
holding  in  front  of  him  little  Pavlo. 

"God  give  me  strength!"  she  prayed,  as  she  flung  her- 
self into  the  water  and  swam  in  long,  regular  strokes,  rising 
to  each  successive  surge,  putting  out  all  the  force  that  was 
in  her.  "God  grant  that  I  can  be  in  time!"  she  implored, 
f eeling  how  slowly  she  was  overhauling  that  fine-weather 
toy,  so  buoyant  and  so  light !  Piotr,  his  back  to  her,  had 
not  seen  her  yet,  and  while  on  the  top  of  a  long  wave  she 
shouted  to  him  to  row  back,  for  she  guessed  that  the  tiny 
oars  were  still  fastened  inside  the  little  craft,  and  knew 
that  he  could  manage  it  if  he  were  so  minded.  But  he 
did  not  hear,  and  she  lost  sight  of  him  as  she  slid  down  a 
slope  of  green  water,  her  hair  in  her  eyes,  her  arms  stiffen- 
ing in  her  supreme  efforts  to  be  quick,  only  quick! 

The  sun  between  two  clouds  was — it  seemed  to  her  a 
minute  'later — winking  ironically  at  her  plight.  She  felt 
dizzy  and  sick  with  the  agony  she  was  going  through; 
she,  even  she,  the  best  swimmer  on  the  coast!  She  rose 
again,  sparing  her  breath,  and  all  of  a  sudden  she  found 
herself  close  to  the  canoe,  balanced  on  the  crest  of  a  wave. 


MOONGLADE 

With  a  desperate  clutch  of  her  right  arm  she  seized  hold  of 
its  flimsy  gunwale  and  hung  on.  Piotr  saw  the  little  hand, 
gave  a  startled  yell  and  let  go  of  the  .baby,  who  tumbled  to 
the  bottom  of  the  narrow  boat. 

How  she  controlled  Piotr  at  that  moment,  how  she  suc- 
ceeded in  piloting  the  canoe — into  which  she  could  not 
climb  for  fear  of  upsetting  it  and  its  precious  cargo — to 
the  shore,  Marguerite  never  knew.  All  she  remembered 
was  what  looked  to  her  like  a  crowd  waist-deep  in  the 
foam,  pulling  her  and  her  boys  to  dry  land,  and  later, 
much  later,  the  arms  of  Basil  around  her  as  she  lay  on 
some  soft  couch,  trying  her  best  to  swallow  something 
strong  and  hot  that  the  old  doctor  was  holding  to  her 
lips. 


"Never!  Never  again!  I  know  you  never  will,  my 
poor  darling!" 

It  was  Marguerite,  four  days  later,  speaking  to  Piotr — 
a  little  pale  shadow  of  himself,  with  big  hollows  under  his 
eyes — kneeling  at  her  feet. 

The  lesson  had  been  hard.  The  reward  was  great. 
For  now  she  knew  that,  come  what  might,  the  boy  who 
could  suffer  as  he  had  done  when  for  a  few  hours  her  life 
had  been  despaired  of,  was  great  enough  in  heart  and 
mind  to  be  transformed  for  ever  after. 

And  she  was  not  mistaken;  for  thenceforth  her  task 
was  light,  her  happiness  unclouded. 


THE   END 


JJ000787109    8 


